


for the faint of heart

by bluestblue



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Missed Chances, struggle of finding where you truly belong, their feelings are very much in your face
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29196555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestblue/pseuds/bluestblue
Summary: Boys and their incessant appetite of the glory days in which everyone's pastime is to be a hazard to their own heart.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45
Collections: SunaOsa Valentine's Exchange





	for the faint of heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [subtlehues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtlehues/gifts).



> the result of _missed-chances where they finally get together post-timeskip_
> 
> AND thoughts like: suna might've chosen to stay at hyogo alone to pursue vb - with the possibility of being everywhere; osamu might've chosen to settle down to establish onigiri miya - with the possibility of remaining there (i'm also aware that onigiri miya is supposed to be in hyogo but,,,)
> 
> hahahah there! i've connected the two dots!! _no i didn't connect shit._
> 
> but i concocted drama out of that, then i think i had too much fun. sorry it reached 20k ╥﹏╥ so i guess, here we go~ hope you enjoy it!

_(i do not know what it is about you that closes  
_ _and opens;only something in me understands  
_ _the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)  
_ _nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands_

_\- e.e.cummings,  
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond _

The gods in the skies above roll in thunder out of amusement as soon as Suna imagines how easy love can be, if people are never to take changes seriously.

"You watched the game?" Suna feels the warmth coursing across his chest as he watches the bright, beautiful smile bloom on his mother’s face. Despite the gray skies, storm threatening to fall anytime.

"Yes, of course. You were great,” she replies softly. There’s also pride in her voice. Her eyes beaming like a proud mother of a gold medalist, which isn’t even possible. Suna’s still in his first year in high school.

"I can be better,” Suna admits. “I’m not yet a starting player.”

She smiles and ruffles his hair. "You will be one! You just started high school, but you can already be a star anywhere! One day, I’ll see you on billboards and TV screens."

"Come on, Mom. That won't happen,” Suna utters, slightly embarrassed. He lowers his head to stare at his shoes. 

“Okay, okay. I'll tone it down for the moment. Surely you'll do well in Tokyo..."

Suna blinks, then gapes with his mouth open. "Tokyo?"

His mother reaches in her bag and pulls out tickets. " _Ta-dah!_ "

Suna hides his hands at his back, steadying his voice to not show how he can already guess what those mean. "What are those for? Are you leaving?"

"We are,” she tells, her eyes gleaming more with excitement. “I already packed your bags. And your sister’s. We can go to your Father. He said he's going to stay there and we can be with him as long as he's here in Japan."

Suddenly, the warmth in his chest is replaced by coldness. Any hint of it is gone. 

Suna opens his lips to say something. Anything. However, he forgets all the right and considerate words. 

Until he doesn’t. "No.”

Her brow raises in question. “What?”

“No... This, again? I thought we decided to stay here."

"Yes, but there’s been some changes of plans. I talked to your Father. Don't worry! It's fine, I’m going to inform your coach and homeroom teacher. It's not much of an issue, since you just started your classes."

"That's not the plan, Mom. I already joined this team. I think they’re great. And they asked for me.” _Maybe the team needs me_ , he thinks to himself.

"You can join anywhere you want! The teams are stronger in Tokyo! There are a lot of volleyball teams out there—"

“No. Please,” he cuts her off faintly, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. No way. Not this again. "Why do we always have to do this? Can't we stay here? And please don’t repeat that speech about how Father’s a free spirit, and we always have to go after him. We can’t have that kind of life. You know we deserve better than that."

"That's how love is—"

"This has nothing to do with _love_. And if it has, it’s selfish. He's... being flaky. He abandoned us from day one."

"Selfish? Abandoned?" She shakes her head. "Your Father’s already planning to be with us for a long time. He's putting us first this time, I'm sure of it.” Her tone is filled with uncertainty yet she looks so confident. That’s how she can stomach everything anyway.

Standing a little straighter, Suna gives her a sad smile. "How many times has he told you that? How many times have you been disappointed?"

There’s pain in his mother’s eyes as her fake courage fails to stow away whatever she’s truly feeling. Suna hates that. He always had. But it’s happened. Again. Over and over again. A part of Suna wishes to yield and accept already. This is the life they have. It’s not that bad. Running after a wanderer. 

Another part of him is already fed up, knowing he doesn’t have a home. Since their family has to move constantly to another unfamiliar four walls. And every time they do, Suna watches as a fragment of his mother’s heart breaks more into tiny pieces. 

"I wasn't disappointed. Don't think—"

"Maybe this is why he keeps leaving. Because he _can_ do it. Freely. To you, to us. Without consequences. I can't blame him. You let him do it every time."

"Rintarou," she warns.

"You need to hear it, Mom. I'm sorry,” Suna begins. He’s prepared a speech for this, as he already saw it coming. "You’re willing to go to the ends of this world, to be with a man who’s obviously doing fine without you. He's doing fine without us. Can’t you see that?” His brow furrows as he pauses. “And you don’t even care if you drag us around. I can’t blame you, maybe that’s the way you know love.” A threatening lump with too many emotions in his throat melts away as a tear runs down his cheek. “But I can’t be a part of the endless chase anymore. I want to stay here, Mom. For once, I want to stay and play here. If it means that I’ll be alone to have a settled life, then so be it.”

There’s an expression on her face—one that’s all too familiar. Sorrow. Dread. And... Proud?

"What do you mean? That’s not the truth. I want us to be together, to be complete.”

"Complete? How? By regularly moving and leaving everything behind?” He holds his mother’s stare, letting out a bitter laugh. “But if that's your constant and how you want to go through your life, then there's no space left for others in your life anymore. Maybe you should just forget that you have a son—”

Suna doesn’t finish his sentence when he hears her gasp, eyes widened in anger.

There are tears threatening at the edge of her eyes as well. Suna's mind goes blank. Apology comes up to mind. He wants to apologize. He should blame it on his childlike age, not knowing any better. He can take every word he said back, to make the scars of his mother his own again. Surrender to the routine. This isn’t the worst thing that life can smack to anyone. 

But that's not how Suna wants to live. No one has to bury pain only to earn someone else's. 

"That’s how you really feel, Rintarou?”

“...Yes, Mom.”

“Don't be stubborn like your Father. You’re too young."

_And what? Be desperate, like you?_

— _That’s too much. Take a step back._

"I love you, Mom. But I hope, from the bottom of my heart, that I won’t be like you. You can always go wherever you want, but take care of yourself. And don't forget my little sister," Suna tells her acidly. 

Suna turns around, running away until he finds himself inside a bathroom. Peeking at his watch, he learns that he only has five more minutes before their bus begins to move. He washes his hands, his face. He doesn’t look at himself in the mirror–afraid to see how he’s also too desperate for something. Kind of feels like he should regret everything, but the thing is he doesn’t. Not at all.

That night slowly comes back to Suna, bit by bit. One night when he catches his mother begging for his father—the love of her life—to stay, to choose her for once. Or else, she doesn't know what else to do.

His mother’s wearing that white nightgown making her look like a fairy. Although the look of fear to be unneeded and alone has nothing to do with any piece of clothing. 

_"Take me with you. Even if it breaks me,"_ she utters quietly. But loud enough to consume Suna’s entire mind. She's holding onto him, she cries as her soul drowns. Not bothering to come up for air. 

It's not like her husband’s committing infidelity. Only that his life is dedicated to his art. Not to his family—never to anyone. He has long decided to put himself first. While she chooses to compromise to never being a priority—aware of that, so she's simply ruined by his absence and feeble vows.

By that age, Suna’s like all those children who are prone to asking all the why’s available. He shouldn’t have. Or he would have come to realize the reality sooner.

_“Why do we always move out, Mom?”_

_“We have to be together. To be that, we have to follow your father.”_

_“Where?”_

_“...Somewhere he needs to go.”_

_“Can’t we go together? Why’s he always the first one leaving?” Suna asks, tilting his head in curiosity._

_“He’s not leaving, per se. You see..." She brushes her fingers in Suna’s hair gently. "There are hearts we can never tame. Like snowflakes. Unafraid to be different. You never know which you're going to have. They twist and turn—always so magnificent. Never for us with warm hands to hold, or else they'll vanish sooner. We can only look after them."_

His father can be the most vile or loveliest snowflake in the cosmos. Not like it matters—his mother will always have the warmest hands. Fiery and so passionate despite her agony.

Suna vows for his own sanity to never be like one of them. To not live a life like that, to never love a love like that. What's the point of passion if it numbs the handmade scars?

When he catches their volleyball team’s bus, Suna sighs in relief. Putting away all his thoughts about what just happened and what could happen after that. Suna counts up to three before entering. As he does, his coach looks surprised to see him. 

"I thought you're going home with your Mom?" he asks Suna.

"Change of plans, Coach. I'm staying.”

There comes the launch of his boyhood. Overruled. For the first time. Against a dreamy one with moving mountains. Or sea shawl wrapping around. Youth is now flattened by a sixteen wheeler made out of bruised teenagers, dazed kids, and silver served not on a platter.

From lazy interest in roots blossoming to the tallest stalk, Suna asks how the gods can quickly give him a taste of his own medicine. By ruining his heartbeat only by one look–a single accidental look at the rhetoric hostile silver boy refusing to leave his window seat.

Suna’s heart breaks more at the sight, his eyes stare at the gratuitous bravery, his mind asks if this is how proud boys should be.

His metal detector doggedly seeks to find its silver. Nothing should make it past it. No one. Except for him: Miya Osamu. He has his own ways of lugging around. With his undertone of crudeness, subtly announcing to the gods they have nothing on him—

“Move your sorry ass or I’ll move you. I swear I won’t think twice,” Osamu warns Atsumu, not budging an inch.

—Or not that subtle.

“I hate sitting in the aisle seat, Samu, you know that! You’re just doing this ‘cause I got the last bite of the sandwich! You’re so petty!”

“What’re you talking about? I would kill for a seat by the window.” That sounds like a threat. “And if you know what you did wrong, consider shutting your mouth.”

If Suna hears those words from Osamu, even if he’s done nothing wrong, he’d absolutely still shut his mouth. 

Standing in the middle of the bus to find a free window seat, Suna tracks none. He clenches his fist in annoyance. If only Suna went straight to the bus to save a seat, but no, he just had to have a full-blown drama with his mother. 

Atsumu refrains from complaining, but casts a deadly glare at Osamu before he sits at the back row seat. 

“Thought I’d finally be free from that when I went here for high school, but no, both of them just had to go here too,” Ojiro, a second year student and their senior, comments as he passes by the twins. 

“They can hear you,” Kita, another second year, tells him.

“No, they don’t. They’re wrapped up with whatever petty fight they have going on.”

Ojiro’s probably not wrong. But Suna doesn’t care to check if he’s right.

Since the closest open seat near the front is the one next to Osamu, Suna chooses it. It’s been a couple of months since Suna moved here. Fortunately, he’s also recruited to play for a long-time powerhouse volleyball team. 

Since then, Suna makes it a point to not talk to anyone on the ride home. Emphasizing his do-not-disturb wall with his headphones and loud music, without fail, Suna has never strayed away from that peace.

There’s always a first time for everything.

Minutes after their ride home from that tiring practice game with another high school team, Osamu strangely taps Suna’s shoulder.

Suna ignores it, pretending it’s only his hallucination. Since that’s never happened before, so it’s impossible. The only times Suna talked to Osamu is when it’s about volleyball. And, well, the longest one is when they’re introducing themselves to each other. Now, on the other hand, there’s no reason for them to talk outside of volleyball.

“Hey,” Osamu says, gently pulling an earphone from Suna’s left ear.

Suna hides his surprise, pausing the music on his phone. “What, Miya-kun?”

Osamu stays silent, so Suna turns to him. “What?” he repeats, slowly grabbing the earphone from Osamu’s hand.

“Do you want to sit here?” Osamu points at his lap.

Suna gets that Osamu’s offering his window seat, but doesn’t really _get_ why he’s offering the seat he vehemently denied his twin. But no one wants to understand their fights anyway, Suna doesn’t plan to. He has enough issues of his own.

“Won’t that be uncomfortable for you? I’m kinda heavy." 

As soon as he says those words, Suna suddenly wonders why he always bites his tongue whenever he’s around Osamu. It’s fun to see him blush, so it’d be a bore not to cause it.

“No. No. What I meant was let’s switch seats.”

“I thought you’d _kill_ for that seat. Really not in the mood to battle you for a seat.”

“I said I’ll kill the jerkface for it—” Osamu clicks his tongue. “No, that doesn’t matter. I asked ‘cause you always seem to... To choose these seats... So I thought you’re uncomfortable now.”

“Ah. Did you save it for me, kind Miya-kun?”

Osamu looks like someone punched his stomach for the way his face contorts at that question. Their relationship isn’t on that level. It’s nowhere even near it, so Suna must’ve made Osamu uncomfortable.

“I’m kiddi—”

Suna’s cut off by Osamu’s rambling, “I did. Anyone will do it. I’ll do it for anyone.”

“I see.” Nodding, Suna gives him a small smile. He clenches his fist against his leg and remains where he is.

_Not anyone,_ Suna thinks to himself. _Just you._

“I also prefer the aisle seat,” Osamu insists. 

“Then why—”

“Hey, Suna-kun, you can unclench your fists. I won't invite you to a battle.”

Suna, through mere observation, has concluded once that between the twins, Atsumu has always been the one calling the shots. 

Most of the time, on the surface, the scenario is most likely: Atsumu brewing something up and Osamu serving as a support. However, if people look closely, Osamu has almost always maneuvered Atsumu’s thoughts. Osamu makes him feel like it’s his own decision, even if it’s not.

Finding that amusing, it never passed Suna’s mind that if he’s around Osamu, he’d sometimes be the one on the receiving end of the indirect means. Not like it’s too much trouble, or convenient. But something already bothers Suna.

To finally have his peace back, Suna decides to concede, “Okay, Miya-kun. You win.”

“...Samu.”

“What?”

“Call me Samu, I’ll call you Rin. Or not. Maybe sometimes.”

Suna’s brows furrow. “What? Sometimes?”

Shrugging, Osamu replies with an unbothered, “Whenever I’ll feel like it. Don’t worry, you can still call me Samu anytime.”

Call it his sixth sense or clairvoyance—Suna sees a distant future when he can never deny Osamu’s wishes, even if he miserably wants to.

❧❧❧

If people are works of art, then Osamu is a dying art almost close to extinction. Doubtlessly made from liquid venom and has lackadaisical running through his veins. Nevertheless, his knees bleed alongside the spitting image of him. 

Osamu’s confusingly sane which sounds good. Only if it’s true. Most of all, Osamu confuses the hell out of Suna, making him hide his hands inside his non-existent pockets in their gym shorts. Wishing that cloth can hide the fists lathered with the depths of his soul. 

At first, Suna cannot comprehend when his own thoughts commence to drift only to Osamu. Never faltering. Not when a girl laughs at Osamu’s nonsensical jokes. Not when a boy places his arm around the back of his neck. 

As this is not about _them_. 

This is about _Miya Osamu_. How everything’s about him. How he’s turbulent, eloquent, yet unapologetic. All those at the same time. 

The very first time they meet is normal. Tedious, even. There are no distinct impressions or anything. Not until Osamu first spoke to Suna.

“Oh, I have a brother. Same age. He’s the setter, the best one. Don’t tell him I said that though,” Osamu shares with that Kansai accent after briefly introducing himself. 

“And which are you, Miya-kun?” Suna can’t help but ask. He doesn’t care—about the brother.

The ironic part, you see, is that Miya Osamu thinks his identity relies on his sibling. Someone should’ve explained to him when he’s younger that there’s no rule on building a world based only on the person next to you.

“Me? Not sure yet, maybe the wing spiker? Tsumu—the one I told you—he’s a hundred percent sure he’ll be the team’s setter. So if you’re trying to be one, I feel like I should warn you. He’s persistent, annoyingly persistent. He gets better in volleyball every time I see him, and that’s everyday.”

Suna quietly observes Osamu, raising a brow. 

With every one sentence description of himself, Osamu always seems to end it with tons about his brother. Can Suna take it as he’s being proud of his brother? Or that he’s merely putting himself in the back burner? 

Suna understands if that’s the case though. It's the same as when Suna runs out of things to say about himself—which happens one sentence in—at parties, so he inserts his sister to the conversation unwarranted: _My little sister’s a pain and a headache, but she’s loveable. And she loves collecting rocks. She found a heart-shaped stone once and gave it to me. So annoyingly adorable, right._

That’s why Suna should stop talking to Osamu already. There’s nothing to add more. He should nod, turn around, find a place to sit down. Not caring if he seems polite or rude or friendly. Suna’s not the one who approached anyway. 

In this world, nevertheless, there are openings and doors as sharks circle souls through their hinges, in an attempt to make them submit. 

Osamu has a lot of these said openings, and Suna can’t just ignore that. 

“Although, he has his moments. But he’s more of a full-time idiot.”

“Is he charming, at least?” 

Osamu shows Suna his wry smile, for the very first time. “He’s my identical twin. So you tell me.”

Seems Suna has them, too.

Coming from Tokyo, Suna knows of golden boys who adorn their necks with jewels of attention. Left alone to grow on their own, unnecessary confidence leaking out of their skin. As Osamu’s last statement warrants Suna to study his entirety, that he does. 

Suna sees in Osamu not a golden boy, but a warm considerate silver; that kind of liquid silver that restores a broken pottery. It’s as if Osamu could turn anyone’s flaws to become their best features if he so commands.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” is only what Suna replies.

From that day on, Suna notices little by little Osamu’s cracks in his perfect armor. Osamu learns fast, he does everything good. In studies, in athletics, and in smiling–if that counts. Vastly better compared to anyone, so close to being untouchable. 

Suna feels like he has to recoil his hands whenever Osamu’s around—or in any case, what he adamantly tells himself to do. If only his hands could touch something to take the itch, the urge to hold, out of them. 

The pitfalls of wanting to get closer to Osamu is that Suna mostly interprets it as an escape for mostly a self-absorbed soul, as others would say, same as his.

Only whenever he has a chance does Suna watches over Osamu. Similar to a moon who never wishes for the waves to come by, but appreciates when they do. Fate, an idea so abstract people love to chance upon, kindly plays out in their lives anyway. Suna’s efforts always run low and knowing they can cross paths in Hyogo, it remains that way. 

Yet here he is, heart beating hastily in his chest, same as the first time he has come to know Osamu’s far from being sane. Far from being the sum of all his wonderful parts. With his wry smile and how he’s too human to play god.

Suna tries not to unpack too much, or much more, of Osamu in this cold afternoon—

Not when Osamu’s gearing up to test his sanity and someone else’s patience. For he's sneaking up on Atsumu to prove how harsh light bounces back on a mere reflection. Osamu and his well shod with runners of rubber landing on someone’s innocent back, oh, how fun to pretend to not see anything.

Like second nature, Suna’s the first on the scene with his phone out, prepared to record what’s supposed to go down. The funniest part is in the scene before his eyes, that how by simply breathing, Atsumu can bring out Osamu’s suppressed urge to kick or to let loose.

After checking, Suna sees that he’s the only one paying attention. It’ll take a hot minute for anyone in the volleyball team to check what’s happening or stop the twins if they fight, and a miracle if they can indeed stop the twins instantly. Suna promises he’ll blow kisses to the heavens if the scene escalates to anything worth recording. A fight, if he’s being honest.

“Ah—Hey! Samu!” Atsumu twists his body to find what or who hit him, even if he already has the correct guess.

There it is. With the new members being wary of Atsumu’s glaring flaws and his fearsome glares, Osamu comes to the rescue. 

The first years turn to look at the twins who are lamely running around. Atsumu, finally showing his dumbass old, ‘true’ self. Osamu, running away with a straight face. If the new ones initially have their muscles tense up whenever they're around the team setter, the scene before them feels like ice cold splashing over them. 

With this, Atsumu becomes approachable. 

To fully erase their doubts and initial thoughts of the mean twin (and to help Osamu get this over with), Suna moves closer to them when they finally land, lightly punching each other on the corner.

“Punch more to the right!” Suna cheers a little loud for his own good. Someone, especially Atsumu, needs to pay him for this. “That’s it! Tsumu, can you turn your head a little more to the left? It’s for camera blocking!”

Suna’s only joking to make this more comical, but he laughs when Atsumu does exactly what he instructed. 

That silly fight ends exactly in one minute and thirty four seconds, as what the number on Suna’s phone shows. It’s when Osamu apologizes and pushes Atsumu out of the way. Both seem tired and the third years are already closing in on them.

After that, Osamu walks to the bench to get his water bottle, and coincidentally where Suna’s sitting. 

“You know you don’t have to prove every time that everyone can easily get closer to your brother, right?” Suna begins, still looking down on his phone. Secretly ensuring the video was captured and saved.

A spark flicker in Osamu’s eyes as a lapse of silence ensues between them. “I don’t do it for everyone.”

“For some attention then?” Suna teases.

Osamu puts his water bottle near his mouth. “Close,” he murmurs then drinks up.

❧❧❧

“Suna, why’re you always on your phone?” Atsumu asks. “And why do you always take photos of your food? Or the scenery? Are you, what they call, sentinel?”

“You mean sentimental,” Osamu gets to comment first before Suna does.

“That’s what I said! Are you sentimental?”

Suna has various thoughts on how to go with this. Most especially, since the question is from Atsumu. He can piss him off with blatant lies or with silence even. But Osamu leans in closer in a subtle way, and Suna knows he’s fully listening. 

So for an unknown reason, Suna decides to go for the truth. “I check up on my Mom.”

“Is she alright?”

Suna nods, giving him a sincere smile. “She’s okay. I just like sending her photos or updates. About interesting things I experience or see. Or even videos sometimes.”

“Like what?”

“Like when you two are fighting. She even sends me a ‘hahaha looks fun, but don’t join them’ text afterwards.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes at Suna. “Why—You!”

“Did she ask you to?” Osamu suddenly butts in, pretending to look at the food.

“To what?”

“To do that. Send updates about you. Since they let you stay here even when you're far away from them.”

“No. It’s... My own decision. She even told me once that I’m not obligated to do it. But I don’t know. It’d be weird if I stopped now, after all this time.”

“What a kind son. Not like this one here,” Atsumu points to Osamu. “Since he’s not flexible enough to be a kind son and brother at the same time, I got to look out which one he decides to be for the day.”

“What ‘bout you? You’re never kind, dimwit,” Osamu retorts easily.

Suna hides his phone in his pocket, not wanting to talk about it. Because back in his mind, he realizes he’s doing it because he’s the furthest thing the world can describe as a kind son. Leaving and choosing to be away from your family aren’t what kind sons do. 

❧❧❧

“Osamu’s my best friend, not yours,” Atsumu brags on one sunny day. 

Suna lightly hums in agreement, tying his shoelace. “Sure.”

“It’s true! You’ve only known each other for a year, got closer at the last half, so you can’t know him better than I do. You got lucky I’m not in your class this year.”

What pushes Atsumu to spit out all of these facts now? He’s definitely up to something. Although it’s not that Atsumu said things that are untrue. Suna’s only unsure why he needs to state them outloud. Of course, Suna only met Osamu last year. Anyone could do nothing about that.

The only odd thing Suna could think about now is how, at first, Suna once didn’t get along with Osamu. At all. Not because they’re rivals or sworn enemies or despise the existence of each other. Probably. Suna guesses it’s due to them being too similar in terms of capability to not speak every single second. Or laziness to make the first move.

_“You’re not getting along with Samu?” That one time Kita asks Suna randomly as they place the things inside the locker._

_“What? Not getting along?” Suna shakes his head with a light laugh, as if that thought never passed his mind. “We’re fine. At class, we once became groupmates. We did well."_

_“Hah, I see. So, not close enough?” Kita doesn’t buy that, of course._

_“No, we are! I mean, we are... Close. Very much. We walked together to the gym earlier. Lots of times.”_

_“You walk side-by-side, or someone’s in front and the other trails behind?”_

_Suna ponders about it. It’s absolutely the latter._

_What’s up with the questions? Is this his mind exhibiting all the queries he has in the form of a straightforward Kita?_

_“I don’t know. I haven’t really noticed those small details, Kita-san.”_

_Suna does, a hundred percent. And it’s surely the latter. It’s always Osamu walking first and Suna slowly following behind. One time, he has gotten the urge to grab Osamu’s hand or something, but that equates to effort to do it and another effort to answer questions that can come along with that action. So it’s a big nope for Suna._

_“Do you like him?”_

_Suna opens his mouth, not to gasp or to speak. Only because of pure shock of not knowing what to answer for a second. Then he recovers._

_“Huh, what? No. Why?”_

_“Well, I like Samu. We all like him. And we like you too. I’m sure you’ll get along soon. But only if you talk to each other.” Then Kita steps away, leaving him alone._

_Blinking, Suna stares at the back of Kita’s disappearing figure._

_Only if they talk to each other?_

_What does that mean?_

Suna ultimately understands what their now-captain meant by that. Suna and Osamu, through the months last year, have gotten closer. Yes, by talking to each other. Yes, Kita Shinsuke is never wrong.

All of the members talk a lot in the team, nonetheless. Inarizaki’s volleyball club has a bunch of oddballs who are comfortable around the company of each other, freely speaking whatever. No doubt that they’ll all click.

“I said, sure. Don’t be too threatened by me,” Suna returns calmly to Atsumu. He puts down his foot on the ground, double-checking if both of his shoes are already well-tied and ready for playing.

Atsumu groans in annoyance like the brat he is. Something must’ve happened for him to be this bothered. Suna’s thoughts fly to a land where Osamu is his best friend, which is a title he never used once. He instantly returns to reality, feeling alright with the thought but also without it. 

“Samu's been with me since before birth!” Atsumu yells in frustration.

Suna doesn’t care or bother about that stuff–best friends. He only has friends, close or not. That’s why he doesn’t get if he’s really supposed to fight for this platform or something. But since it’s Atsumu on the other end, it leaves Suna no choice. 

Atsumu seems to care about it, more than Suna expects. Living up to the title of being the best setter Osamu has claimed for him once, Atsumu absolutely loves a good old challenge–he sees this as one. He’s surely not shutting up without his victory.

Suna decides there and then to piss off the menace of his everyday.

“Oh yeah? But Samu has a secret that he said he only told me.” Suna shrugs, feeling comfortable at the view of a seething loser. “He even made me promise not to tell you.” 

Osamu did none of these.

Atsumu’s frown is evident. 

This is fun. 

“Do you know his favorite food?” Atsumu dares.

“Yeah, it’s _food_. Or delicious rice.”

“Huh!” Atsumu huffs, knowing the answer’s odd but not untrue. “His birthday?”

“Fifth of October. Which is also unfortunately yours,” Suna answers nonchalantly. “Are we seriously doing this?”

“What’s the color of his eyes!”

“Gray.” With a sigh, Suna adds loudly, “Can someone save me from this.”

Atsumu blatantly ignores that. “Natural hair color?”

At this point, someone either has to give Suna patience or an untraceable weapon.

“Some shade of brown.”

Not planning to stop, Atsumu carries on, “‘kay! How about his type?”

At that, Suna almost straightens his back in mere surprise and attentiveness. Almost. He makes sure nothing gets displayed on his face or actions. 

“Type?”

“Yeah, of a person he likes.”

“A girl with a parted hair in the middle seat of that one class,” Suna echoes some of Osamu’s words he remembers he said back then. 

_That time when they’re walking on the hallway, and as they pass by a classroom window, Suna hears Osamu’s whispering, “Cute.”_

_“Huh? Who?” Suna’s mouth blabs before he could think twice._

_Osamu doesn’t bother to glance at the sight of where he’s blindly pointing. “There. With a parted hair in the middle.”_

_Suna does everything not to look concerned, so he sharply nods. He pretends that he doesn’t think about it much. Yet he does._

The unresolved feeling, however, builds up and seemingly leads to prying. 

Stupid, stupid curiosity.

Atsumu half-snorts hearing that new fact. “Oh, parted hair, huh? That’s Samu’s type alright.”

Kita, who is actually hearing their loud portion, decides to intervene. “There are people who don’t part their hair?”

“Are you kidding me.” Ojiro utters an exasperated snort, standing there with his clean-cut hair. “We’ve been together for almost three years, Shinsuke.”

Kita responds with a slight shrug and a grin. Anyone can interpret that as Kita deliberately asking just to tease Ojiro.

Pausing for a moment, Atsumu seems to realize something else. “Right, you’re so right, Kita-san. So it could be anyone! Oh, well! Anyway, Suna, we’re at a tie.”

No, they’re absolutely not. But who’s counting?

Their coach still nowhere to find, Suna resumes to go along with this farce, “This is why tiebreakers exist.”

“Knew you’re a sucker for challenges.” Atsumu places the back of his fingers at his chin, thinking. “I’m out, I can’t think of anything yet. Do you mind?”

“Osamu and I don’t fight—all the time. You do,” Suna lays out his cards.

“No, you don’t get to use that. That’s natural, our healthy fights strengthen our siblings’ bond,” Atsumu deals with them.

Suna suddenly reflects if he ever fought with his little sister, and of course, they never do. 

_Some of the last recent moments when he’s with her, he’s trying to practice how to do a braid using his little sister’s hair. They’re both watching the video tutorials when she assures him, “It’s okay if you can’t do it!”_

_Fear must’ve been evident on Suna’s face. The list that can scare Suna in this world is a short one, but rest assured, hair braiding is one of them._

_Suna shakes his head. “They should’ve given you a big sister,” he murmurs._

_His little sister frowns as she hears that. She turns to look at him, slightly glaring but still completely adorable. “No! One of my classmates said her big sister never ties her hair, like you do with mine. Also! When I shared how you always tell me you love me, I... I saw her eyes almost come out of here,” then she points at her eye sockets by making a little circle out of her little hands and placing them above._

_“Why’s that?”_

_“Apparently not everyone’s vocal on how much they love their sibling!”_

When Suna sees their coach entering the gymnasium, he realizes he needs to either have the last word or suffer later during the game due to his head being played by Atsumu’s mind game.

Maybe this would one up Atsumu, maybe not. Whatever.

“I love Osamu,” Suna declares confidently, taking out a page from one of the classmates of his little sister's sibling book.

Suna notices some of his teammates accidentally heard, and some intentionally since they’re listening right from the start. But at that moment, the air becomes tight. Like Suna spits fire for a job and the whole world turns its head to watch something fascinating. It’s making him nervous. 

Although what’s done is done, anyway.

Atsumu chuckles, scratching his elbow. “Are you stupid, Suna-kun? I also love my brother.”

“You tell that to his face?”

Atsumu grunts noncommittally at that—obviously no good. “Do you? Can you?”

“Yes.” 

Suna doesn’t think twice whenever his pride is on the line. Suna’s a fool.

“Yeah? Turn ‘round and tell Samu then, if you really can.”

Definitely a fool, multiply that by a hundred. Suna turns around and finds Osamu standing behind him. He stops when they make eye contact. Looks like Osamu’s one of their audience. Of course, that’s fitting. 

How fortunate.

Because with this, Osamu’ll know what has led them—what pushed Suna—to the corner at this exact moment. Osamu has to. Suna believes in the power of doing everything only to beat and trample on Atsumu. And he believes that power resides inside Osamu. 

“I—” Suna’s voice almost cracks. “I love you, Samu...kun.”

Why he needs to add that last syllable at the end, Suna doesn’t know. It sounds too heavy without it. 

The blowing of a well-timed whistle may have come in the worst or best possible moment as it catches everyone’s attention. Suna breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn’t have to see what Osamu’s reaction is. 

Managing to get past the lump of his throat in the middle of the practices, Suna sometimes wonders what could’ve been his reaction.

❧❧❧

Not a problem, the world responds. 

Day after, Suna encounters Osamu’s reaction to the spur-of-the-moment confession. His action in response singlehandedly makes the ordeal embarrassing and awkward. One that’s akin to a confession from the movies. It’s not. Suna has a reason, Osamu should know that. He’s there, surely hearing it all. 

Now Osamu’s not there, not here, not anywhere near Suna. Suna knows a person in hiding when he sees one. He’s in full possession of ignorance and blending in the background. 

Only if Osamu's a bit better in hiding or giving someone the go-by, maybe Suna can bask in pretense. Unluckily, Osamu's the worst at it. 

How Osamu hides behind his book, how he evades when they’re almost five steps away, how he literally runs the other way even if it's going to take him away from his desired location. Glad he’s giving his all to outrun nothing. If the moment and place permit, Suna's pretty sure Osamu’s going to jump inside a dumpster to be out of sight. 

The way he’s doing everything, even the tiniest ant, would sense it’s because of what Suna said at the gym. 

This is all Atsumu’s fault.

“Ah! It’s Kita-san’s free popsicles day!” Atsumu announces as he walks alongside Suna. “Hey, is that why you fetch me before practice? Are you that excited?”

“Excited for?”

“To eat a popsicle with me!” He switches his bag from his side and hooks it around the back of his neck. Then he walks ahead of Suna, slowly stepping backwards. “I’m kidding. What’s up with you? Did you finally fight with Samu?”

“No.” Suna grits his teeth. “That’s your thing, not ours.”

“What’s your thing then? Love?” 

If glares could kill, Atsumu would be gone by now.

Atsumu holds up his hands in a slightly mocking surrender. “Just saying. You’re both—” He pauses, seemingly thinking of something. “Grumpy? No, grumpier. And well, you’re not walking with him right now.”

Hearing Atsumu’s voice makes Suna think that there’s a chance he truly did something irrational and irresponsible. His voice has that effect. It can make anyone want to punch a wall, or blurt words that hold no meaning outloud. 

However, if Suna’s going to pin everything on Atsumu, nothing’s going to get done. 

“Whose fault is it?” Atsumu asks. Obviously, he doesn’t know it’s because of that one time.

Shrugging, Suna replies with his newfound truth, “Mine, I think.”

“How?”

“I offended him...somehow?” Suna isn’t sure, either. He wants to ask, but well, he can’t get closer.

“Don’t worry! Samu could never sleep with a grudge. He can’t sleep with anyone hating his guts or something.”

“Really?”

“Really! I remember that one time Samu got sick after we fought–which is not related to our fight at all, I swear–but he keeps whispering he’s sorry that he shouted at me.” Atsumu stares down at his feet, still walking slowly, and smiles warmly as he recalls a fond memory. 

“Then?”

“I cried that day as soon as he fell asleep. Even made a promise that I’ll never fight with Samu again. But obviously, that’s impossible.”

“What a crybaby,” Suna tells him offhandedly, trying not to grin.

“That’s—That’s not the point!”

“Crybaby.”

“Come on. This is what I get for comforting you?”

Suna laughs quietly, then he shows Atsumu that he’s zipping his mouth.

“Okay, there, so he might ignore you now and then. But at the end of the day, he’ll be the one who will end it no matter what or who started the fight.” Finally turning and walking ahead, Atsumu sighs. 

“What if he doesn’t?”

“Then just go to me.”

Suna’s not quite sure if he heard that right. “What?”

“I said, talk to him. Or overwrite the situation with something else, which can either be worse or better.”

“Overwrite, huh? Sounds complicated.”

“But I think it’s better when Samu’s shouting or bursting out in anger. When he ignores me, it feels sad—feels lonely. You kinda get that nagging feeling like he’s leaving you behind,” Atsumu adds, in a haze of melancholy. 

"That's not possible. I think he'll follow you everywhere, like you're his older brother."

"I'm his older brother."

"What? You kidding me?"

Although, that makes so much sense, Suna muses.

Laughing, Atsumu shrugs at Suna before entering the gymnasium.

Turning all of his other feelings to words, Suna isn’t surprised that he hears them from Atsumu. Times like those are why Suna appreciates his company. Even when he bugs the hell out of Suna, Atsumu never lets anyone down when it comes to pure comfort or unsolicited advice. That, and he can’t walk with Osamu. 

Atsumu’s right.

And so, so wrong.

As soon as he follows to the gym where almost everyone’s present, something washes over Suna.

What Suna feels is much, much more. His chest aches, and the hole where his heart's supposed to be has never been filled. Yet now, it slowly starts to be consumed by his emotions. 

It'll never be unfunny to learn how the world can be the most beautiful when it tries to bury you alive. Who knew the world is merciful even in its last act of desertion. 

Soon as the bright sky shines in the form of Osamu's lopsided smile, it makes you believe that you're the one who dug your own grave. You chose that ground, that flower to cover the dirt, and that epitaph that contains the names of everyone you ever loved.

If Suna’s gut is right—his experiences say it’s never wrong—this is how to undeniably, completely like someone. He figures it out this way. 

How soul-crushing, how graceful. Suna trembles in the face of awareness. Although it’s terrifying as it’s most likely unrequited, nothing’s surprising anymore. Not this. Osamu can do this to anyone near him. 

And it’s because he’s Osamu, and he’s Suna. In a way, possibility blooms only because it’s them.

Exceeding the fleshly boundaries, Suna’s always has been meant to be bound by something. Someone, somewhere. Osamu, on the other hand, has a way like how stars touch the fingertips. More than those overused exhilarating cosmic validations, more than the inevitable spinning of the earth. 

Suna’s mother has spoken about a lot of things, but the one that he recalls everyday is—

_Somebody would see through you. Only when you allow them. Let them approach you if they want. You can always be selfish. But be open to chances._

_Stay._

_(walk away)_

_(for boys like you will have to hate vulnerability)_

The consolation of being in Osamu’s presence might only last for a while. Maybe someday, Suna wakes up and begins asking for more. 

Perhaps Suna will then acknowledge the overwhelming urge to run towards him and say the words he always meant to say again. Today’s not that day. The world that Suna grows up in does a lot of pretending. Osamu can pretend to be whoever he needs, Suna can pretend he never notices.

❧❧❧

Later that day, the members who are willing to walk to the other side of the street from school for ice popsicles, guaranteed for free, are somewhat a lot. 

“I’ll pay for them,” Kita repeats sternly. Anyone who hears that voice will concede.

But Ojiro’s not just anyone. “Sure, and I also want to pay. Let me pay, too.”

“No.”

Ojiro takes out his wallet from his bag. “Yes.”

“I didn’t bring you here to pay. And I promised the other members—”

“It’ll be okay, as long as it gets paid.”

“We can’t betray their trust like that. Promises are a big deal.”

The frustration would’ve rendered Suna speechless, and he’d probably—no, he’s surely walking away from that one. In his head, Suna blows another kiss to the sky for the exclusion.

Kita stares at Ojiro with his deadpan expression for a couple of seconds. Ojiro, nonetheless, seems so unaffected that he dares to tap his right foot. That kind of action you only see from an impatient man waiting in line. 

Suna observes this amusing showdown happening at the convenience store. He’s also mildly debating if he can already take an ice pop from the refrigerator. The others are already busy talking amongst themselves and choosing which flavor.

“What’s yours, Samu?! I’ll get it for you!” Atsumu yells, although his brother is just steps away from him.

Coffee coconut milk. Osamu likes that. He likes everything, but he favors that the best. 

Suna wonders what it feels like to have Osamu’s favor.

“Suna,” Osamu calls him quietly, moving a bit closer to Suna’s side than necessary. “You’re here.”

Oh, he’s talking to him already?

“Wherever it says free, you’ll find me there.”

Suna swears he hears Osamu’s throaty laugh for a second.

“What’s yours?” Osamu asks him. “Flavor you want.”

Suna’s in a mood for chocolate now. “Coffee,” he tells him. “Why? You gonna get me—?”

Before Suna finishes his question, Osamu’s already walking away towards the refrigerator. Amid the team, even with Atsumu, Osamu has this big presence. 

Everyone seems to pause from what they’re doing when he spoke a word to them. Suna doesn’t need to hear or read his lips, he already knows he’s apologizing and trying to say ‘excuse me’, particularly in that order. Majority of them give him a space to peek behind the cool glass, enough for Osamu to take two popsicles.

And as Osamu comes back to where Suna is, holding two popsicles, Suna wonders if this is what the person who discovers the word ‘greed’, that sense of superiority. To be greedy for his attention and favor, greedy to see him every day, and god forbid, greedy to have him in the palm of his hand. 

Suna—like the others—might’ve thoughts, every now and then, about what Kita is like when he’s not being a machine. When Suna, however, sees Kita cry once, the transient ache and interest kind of drifts away.

And everything lands right exactly on Osamu.

“Here’s yours,” Osamu hands the popsicle. His fingers seem to slowly graze Suna’s.

Seeing the other popsicle being random, Suna’s eyes narrow. “What’s that flavor?”

“Not sure. I’m gonna try it. The, um, flavor I wanted ran out.”

What a liar.

“Okay. Can I see that?”

Osamu hands it to Suna. Suna finds out the flavor. It’s chocolate. Cool.

“Ah, I like this one better,” Suna tells him. “Let’s exchange.” Since you also like the coffee one better: left unsaid.

He hands the coffee popsicle to Osamu. While staring down, Suna sees Osamu giving a soft expression and a small smile before murmuring, “Thanks.”

Suna mentally pushes the imperceptible button to revert him back to reality. Body hunched over, part of lower body leaning on the wall, he can’t complain being backed on a corner. As he’s not. 

Without a doubt, Suna ponders deeply, anyone’s terror of humanity is often encapsulated in their tiny soft fingers and calloused tongues. Unfortunately for Osamu, it’s in his everything.

❧❧❧

Still, something’s not right. Sure, Osamu’s speaking to Suna again. Sure, he even took a popsicle for him. And sure, there’s a gentle smile that passed between them. But—

Suna can’t pinpoint the unsettling and existing problem. Yet.

Before, Suna easily could. It’s his thing—observing and realizing before others do. One of his realizations is: Nothing easy has ever come in life, Suna perceives this firsthand, except for being with Osamu. 

Suna thought once in April, that Osamu's the April in a school jacket with dyed unruly hair and stole that day. In May, he's the May with green lights that everyone expects, a boy who never stops long enough for anyone to yield. Always on the move, always on the go go go. In August, he’s suddenly October forcing you to picture a future you might never ever be able to experience, yet you sit on the edge of a bed expecting not to disappear into the floor. Until Osamu forces his way out being the months, turning to days. He becomes the nights, the stars out in the sky making you feel small. His eyes tell that he's already where he's supposed to be, asking around: why’re you enjoying watching things leave you? Are you going to eternally reside alone?

Suna’s fine with it, then he’s not. As a lot of the time, Osamu mirrors his hesitancy. 

Moments exist when Osamu looks as if his skin isn’t his own. Not even sitting on the sidelines, Suna has never seen someone so detached and so concerned. Suna doesn’t question it, for he has some parts of the answer.

Tapping his pencil on his desk during class, Suna’s eyes land across the room. And he finds himself watching as Osamu blinks hard. Trying not to fall asleep as the teacher spouts words. Osamu pinches himself to wake himself up, looking stupid. Suna refrains smiling. 

“Stop trying so hard,” Suna whispers to the sleeping Osamu when they’re left inside the classroom. It’s lunch break and everyone’s already gone out. 

Suna stays to wake him up, he decides to stay quietly because he doesn’t want to wake him up.

Pressing his lips together, Suna sits on the chair next to Osamu. He rests his head on the top of someone else’s desk. 

Wake him up. (He needs to eat.)

Don’t wake him up. (He needs to sleep.)

Suna chooses the latter.

Nothing beats staying silent, face to face, and watching the boy you like dozing off soundly. It definitely adds years to lifespan. Suna finds himself touching the ends of Osamu's hair. Softer than he expects, so alluring, so simple to stroke lovingly his hair.

Suna does love seeing Osamu, sleeping on his desk, hair sprawled over his face. But is Suna in love with him? He doesn’t have a way to know this kind of thing. 

All Suna is sure about is if he’s still in Aichi and he’s two hours away or more through bullet train from Osamu, he’ll find a way to get to him in a heartbeat.

Suddenly, Osamu yawns, his eyes steadily opening and when they finally focus on Suna. Then he sits up abruptly, facing in front. Turning his head back and forth to look around the room, he seems he's reorienting himself.

So cute. Huh. Alright.

Maybe Suna’s kind of in the middle ground. Kind of there, but not yet. So close, skating lamely in the thin line to falling in love.

“Where... Where are the others?” Osamu’s voice is slightly raspy, confirming he’s been sleeping.

“Lunch break,” Suna replies, with his head still lying on the desk.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I did.” Suna didn’t.

Osamu examines the time on his watch. “You should’ve eaten by yourself.”

“I did.” Again, Suna didn’t.

“Are you hungry?”

He is. Badly. “No, I’m fine.”

Osamu catches on his lie. He grabs something from his bag—a sandwich in a brown bag sliced in two. He then proceeds to face Suna, waiting for him to sit upright. Suna does. Osamu, not meeting his eyes, places it on top of his desk.

“It’s not much, but eat that.”

“Samu?” 

Staring excessively at his slice of bread with something inside that Suna doesn’t dare to ask because he already trusts Osamu’s taste, Osamu makes a sound urging Suna to continue. He also tries to stifle a yawn.

“Are you still sleepy?”

“No.”

The sound of a rustling bag echoes inside the room. “Yeah?”

“I don’t know.” 

Suna feels Osamu’s eyes on him, so he returns the favor. Or tries to. Because as soon as he does, Osamu is already turning away, evading. An improvement, it seems, since Osamu has physically constrained himself not to flee. 

Although there’s nothing like having the person you like acting it’s the biggest convenience to meet your eyes. 

Young love: steering clear of any way to meet teenage gazes. Terrified of: sooner they meet, sooner they fall. 

❧❧❧

Suna cannot understand, fears he never will. He stays up late at night to think of the root of the cause. But what would that even solve. He just moves on to thinking what to do next. 

How a single, impulse decision can mount up to devastation—no, that’s too much of an exaggeration. It only mounts up to avoidance. But watching Osamu spend so much effort to avoid Suna’s eyes, and how the distance grows, Suna has to do something else. Something else, something more out of the park.

So what’s more effective than drinking a drop of liquid courage. This is something Suna has never done or thought of before. He’ll act up a good old pretense to let Osamu be his usual self and finally, have their comfortable friendship be intact.

_Overwrite it with something else_.

“I love you, Gin,” Suna reveals the next afternoon during their five-minute break. 

“What?”

Suna ignores him and moves next to Kosaku and mutters loudly, “Love you, Kosaku-kun.” Louder, for everyone to hear. And again to another first year, again to another one. He almost hits the jackpot until Suna notices that everyone’s looking at him weirdly. He’s not bothered by it, more like he kind of expects those reactions.

Their stares do not amount to the relief Suna sees in Osamu when he must’ve realized Suna does that to everyone. (Suna doesn’t.)

Osamu has that same relief Suna has seen in the mirror when a tiny bruise is hidden by his clothes, and yet, and yet. Yet for a split second, something passes Osamu’s face like the spare band-aid Suna keeps inside his pockets, in case. Serving as a precaution and an apology to the pain that has been stretched so thin. 

The way Osamu’s mouth is set, the way his eyes speak for themselves. If Suna lets himself live in a misinterpreted moment, he’d think Osamu's in pain. 

In Osamu’s solemn gaze, Suna could easily mistake it as something else. Since when did his stares turn from gentle to intentful? 

_No way._

Suna can’t have that flicker of hope, if he can’t have all of it burning steadily. 

“How about me?” Osamu mouths. 

Is it possible? To keep expecting without asking for anything at all?

Suna moves closer to Osamu before blurting out something he never expects himself to say, “You? I have a normal amount of feelings for you.” 

But Suna misses the timing and chance to say it’s a joke. To laugh. At the situation, at his words, and more so at himself. 

Osamu grabs the upper hand with a grin. “Right back at you.”

❧❧❧

Opening the door on a weekend, Suna expects to see someone he’s asked to be here, like Ojiro or Kita or Ginjima. He specifically chooses them to be here as they’re more reliable than other people. Or more liable to agree.

But the texts he’s gotten in the morning–more like their abrupt various excuses on why they can’t go–are enough for Suna to suspect something’s up.

For some reason, Suna’s suspicions hold true when his eyes mostly betray him when they land on a gray-haired boy – whom Suna likes – called Miya Osamu.

“Why’re you here?” Suna blatantly questions, not at all thinking of letting him in. His stomach feels unsettled. 

On the floor are his things scattered and boxes unopened. Anyone that sees would think it’s the result of laziness. Not that they’d be entirely wrong. Suna just hasn’t expected that ‘anyone’ would turn out to be Osamu.

“Kita-san told me to show up at this address,” Osamu returns coolly. “So this is the Inarizaki dorms, huh? Pretty nice. Maybe I can move here when I’m finally fed up with Tsumu's snoring.”

He holds up a tiny piece of paper with Suna’s new address definitely written by Kita-san. Suna squints at the snow globe, glitter floating around, being held by Osamu's other hand.

“And you just went here without knowing what you’ll find?” Suna rolls his eyes. 

Osamu really has his own way of holding you up then letting you down.

“No. I know. That’s why I brought this for you,” he says, pertaining to the snow globe. 

Then, _up_ again.

“For what?”

“For your new place. A housewarming gift, I think? So you’ve been living with your aunt last year, right? Kita-san also said you needed help. But he’s occupied. I also wondered why you didn’t ask for me. Since I can also help you.” 

(How is that even a housewarming gift?)

Suna ceases his lips from forming a smile. He needs things to be done this day, or else he’ll never finish unpacking boxes. Any person who can help is welcome.

Who is he kidding? 

Osamu, being here, is the greatest surprise Suna can ever receive.

“That’s ‘cause you were avoiding me,” Suna reminds him with a grin. “After we said something about a normal amount of feelings for each other?”

Suna watches the way Osamu’s throat moves as he swallows, looking away. “I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“Give me a break. I was _not_.”

“Sure, you weren’t... What about Tsumu?” 

Osamu freezes for half a second, before he turns to face Suna again. “What about him? You asked for him, too? Told him that too?” 

“Huh, no. I just mean you’re always together.”

“Not all the time. He had—He has plans. So, can I come in now or you’re good?”

They stay silent for several seconds with their eyes locked. Suna nods, finally opening the door wide enough for Osamu to enter the apartment. Along that are Suna's thoughts wondering how can the place be so spacious yet Osamu’s presence is enough to make a huge difference. Feels suffocating. Feels the preemptive emptiness knowing Osamu’s not gone home yet, but with the knowledge he will.

It's like Suna’s the snow and Osamu’s the wind popping out of nowhere, making him sway wherever, slowly creeping up onto him. 

Speaking of, Osamu hands him the snow globe. And at that moment, Suna thinks it’s the best thing he has ever laid his eyes on.

The transparent sphere enclosing a tiny house made out of wood, with two windows in front and tree tall trees behind. It doesn't seem magical, or of some sort. It's simple and cozy - very much filled with nostalgia. Not big enough that it's needed to be held by two hands, but not small enough that the tips of the fingers can touch when holding it. By shaking and turning it back to its orientation, the snowflakes fall down unhurriedly. Making you want to pretend they're an invitation to be naive, to let go of any fear. Once he enters, there'll be a snuggly blanket and one glass of warm milk to get by. Still, his heart tells him it's enough. 

“I actually got lost when I was looking for the address, so...”

Suna grins. “People always stray away. From the places they think they have to go to. It’s the same thing that’s wrong and right with all of us.” He doesn’t know where that came from. That is his mother’s way of speaking, not his.

“Are you planning to have a heart-to-heart?” Osamu teases.

“Shut up.”

“Oh. You have two huge sacks of rice,” Osamu comments, staring down at the, well, two huge sacks of rice resting on the floor. They’re the first thing anyone would notice, as they’re oddly huge and take up too much space. Suna doesn’t blame Osamu for asking.

“I don’t know where to put them, to be honest. I don’t plan on using them anytime soon,” Suna replies, while searching for a place to place the snow globe. 

“Don’t you cook for yourself? Since you’re alone.”

Suna’s eyes land on the side of his feet. He sees his polaroid photo on the floor, all exposed. It wouldn’t be much of an issue if Suna isn’t smiling from ear-to-ear on the photo. It isn’t a perfect one and his face is almost blurry, since the one who took it is his little sister when they borrowed the camera from their cousin. Keeping it as both a memento and to hide it from the world without the constant need to throw it, Suna remembers that he has inserted in one the random cookbooks at their house. It must’ve fallen from that one time he grabs the box, dropping some books on the floor.

Suna slowly slides his right barefoot over his photo, hiding it but not fully touching it with his sole. The snow globe getting too heavy by the second, he decides to place it on the nearest shelves first.

“Suna?” Osamu calls. 

“Huh? Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you cook for yourself.”

“Not yet, though I plan to. But the sole reason I have those is ‘cause I won this raffle.”

Osamu whips his head to Suna, confusion etched on his face. “A raffle?”

“A raffle.”

“What—Why? You like entering raffles?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Since when?”

“Ever since I tried to test the limits of my luck.” _Ever since I got to know you,_ Suna’s mind yells. “And it’s for free. I joined since the first prize is a gift card with a huge amount. I got the third prize.”

That earns Suna a chuckle—a chuckle!—from Osamu. “How do those even prizes relate at all? What’s the second?”

Suna pauses for a second to recall. Then he moves, lifting a box next to him. “I think it’s a phone. I know it’s random, but the raffle was done by a supermarket. So maybe they used a roulette wheel with all their items.”

Just like that, Suna and Osamu revert back to being two friends who casually hang out and open boxes and rearrange an apartment. They spend all day together. Side bonus: Osamu cooks for Suna, using a small amount of the rice enough for the two of them. He makes a decent home-cooked meal. But it doesn’t matter because Suna might be willing to eat anything, even if the main ingredient is struggle, only if it’s made by Osamu.

They also end up making few onigiris.

“Hey, I might have a plan on how to lessen your rice.”

Suna looks at Osamu dead in the eye. “Like a good one?”

Osamu slowly averts his gaze. “I have a plan. Trust me.”

“No, thanks. I already made one.”

They fall silent.

“So, what’s—?” 

“To follow yours.” 

Suna laughs, Osamu follows suit. Surely laughing at the absurdity of this conversation.

“Okay, then. Let’s get married,” Osamu suddenly blurts out that Suna almost chokes in his own volition. His laughter dies and his eyes widen. 

“W-What?” 

“There's some tradition where they throw rice at married couples for best wishes, right?”

There are some days, surely, that the devil sits back and admires their work in the form of Miya Osamu.

Rolling his eyes, Suna ignores the thumping inside his chest. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard from you.”

“I’m kidding!” Osamu grins. “Let’s make onigiri.”

“For what?”

“For eating—uh, you alright, Suna?”

“Right... No. I suddenly feel dizzy.” 

Dizzy? More like whiplashed due to his emotions piling up, having nowhere to go.

Suna, still stuck on the sudden and fake proposal, has no energy to disagree anymore. So he nods as Osamu informs him that he’ll buy some ingredients, ones which Suna doesn’t have, at the nearby store. Then he goes out alone, but not before cooking rice. 

In Suna’s head, Osamu’s words keep on repeating. Kind of wishing he should’ve listened and agreed to his mother’s wish for him to place a CCTV camera inside the apartment. It would’ve been great if he has a record of Osamu asking him that. 

Too deep in his own thoughts, Suna doesn’t even notice how time has quickly passed by. Osamu catches Suna staring and out of his mind when he comes back. 

All the time, Suna thinks he’s acting normally. He stands beside Osamu at the small kitchen, staring at him, waiting for him. 

“Take this medicine first,” Osamu says, handing him the pills in the metallic casing. “Also, drink water. You wouldn’t be much help to me, if you don’t feel well.”

Suna blinks at Osamu’s action as his brain looks like it’s stopped its function. His hands, however, and thank the heavens, move for him. Taking the pill and drinking the water, Osamu makes sure Suna does it in front of him.

“Done,” Suna mutters.

Osamu's stern expression breaks into a smile and he ruffles Suna’s hair. “Good.” 

Suna’s not the kind of boy who gets a racing heart over something like that. But. Damn it. 

“What can I help? Wait, do you know how to make onigiri?” Suna asks, after an awkward beat of stillness.

“Yeah, my Grandma likes to teach us back then. I dunno about Tsumu, but I like watching her make them. It’s calming.”

Osamu proves that he knows his stuff, showcasing his cooking plus teaching skills to Suna. Wetting the hands with water, rubbing the salt, forming the steamed rice into a triangle, pushing the filling into the rice, holding it between the palms, and forming it into a triangle. Sounds like the simplest thing in the world—

"What’re you making?"

"Disappointment,” Suna responds, showing Osamu the prototype onigiri he’s creating in a shape of god-knows-what. 

Osamu has the nerve to laugh at him and shake his head. “Restaurant owners and anyone who sells food have to do this everyday, huh?”

“That sounds so tiring,” Suna grumbles.

“Yeah, but it can also be fulfilling,” Osamu adds as he aims a gentle smile in Suna's way. 

“Maybe for you.”

How unfair. That way Osamu’s tired eyes light up, the way he’s sure about his words. Opposite to the times they’re in the court, when Osamu sometimes pushes on with a fake smile. Not like this one. 

The curve on his lips show as if he’s genuinely enjoying–not that he never enjoys playing volleyball, but it isn’t just as magical. Here, it’s a glimpse of what Osamu can be. It’s a punch in the gut, but one that’s filled with warmth and relief.

“Although, it may be true,” Suna shares. “We used to live in Aichi when I was much younger, like six or seven. We had an old neighbor. He had this small cozy shop, and when I was younger, my Mom used to work a lot. She doesn’t want me to be alone at home, so she’d let me stay there. That old man used to sell the most random meals for the nearby students who always seem so excited to see him. They indulged him, I know that by now. But I think it’s because it’s worth it. Whoever enters his door, he welcomes them with a big smile.”

“Sounds nice,” Osamu comments warmly.

“It was nice. Especially knowing mine’s different. It’s more special. Or it’s what I let myself think. He tells me ‘welcome home’, as if I’ve lived there. Or it’s because he knew how much my heart aches for one. I don’t know, didn't get the chance to ask. We moved places a month after that.”

Suna, head in the clouds, accidentally grazes the back of his hand at the rice cooker. He utters a yelp, slightly flinching in pain. Osamu, probably making it his life goal to be a savior of humanity, gently holds Suna's hand and opens the faucet. Under the cool tap water, they both watch as it runs over Suna’s burned skin.

“You okay?” Osamu asks, allowing Suna to swing his attention his way.

“If my hand suddenly stops working, most especially when I become an old man, I’ll have you take the responsibility,” Suna taunts. “I’ll tell them you forced me to make onigiri.”

Laughing quietly, Osamu retorts, “You do that.”

“I will. I’ll do it. I won’t ever leave you alone until you pay for this.”

“No problem. Just tell me how much.” 

Suna’s about to ask what the hell Osamu means by that, but is cut off with Osamu’s question about his clean towels, so he points to a box in which Osamu takes one. He proceeds to place the wet cloth over the area to relieve the swelling. 

"Now, kid, just stay put. You're wasting too much and already hurt yourself by doing the absolute nothing.”

Suna glares at Osamu. “Kid? Nothing?”

“Okay. The barest minimum, I guess,” Osamu reluctantly gives in, obviously making fun of Suna.

"You're just too strict."

"No.”

Suna doesn’t know what to reply, so he scowls at Osamu.

“Now, say those three words that I want to hear," Osamu orders.

Suna’s mind turns blank at that for a second. Okay, maybe half a minute. Three words? Three words. That’s what Osamu just said, right? What does that mean? 

Three words only almost always refer to that one statement. 

"I... love... you?"

"Playing fast and loose with those three words, huh?" Osamu snickers. “I wasn’t referring to them. Three words that Tsumu promises a lot to Kita-san, I mean.”

Ah, that one. "I will behave."

“There—” Osamu pats Suna’s head once, “—finally.”

❧❧❧

“ _We built up walls to keep out the pain. We break them down for beauty,_ ” his mother tells him after he asks if it’s alright for him to stay at a place where he’s far from his family.

That’s a code to go for it, Suna assumes. Since he’s in his second year already, still in Hyōgo prefecture, still in the volleyball team but now as an official middle blocker.

His mother always has her own way of talking that, for a teenage boy, gets too confusing. So he always fancies himself to nod, maybe sometimes let those strange words affect him. What walls, pray tell, do people build and break?

Waking up on his bed, Suna’s memories come rushing back. Osamu at his door, Osamu making onigiri, Osamu buying him medicine, Osamu holding his hand under the water, Osamu smiling and laughing. 

Ah, so this is where the walls should be built. 

Too late. Now, even in his morning thoughts? Great, just great. Suna doesn’t remember how he ends up on his bed. The last thing he can think of is falling asleep on the small couch, eating his last share of onigiri.

“Hey, Samu. How did I get on my bed yesterday?” 

Osamu turns to Suna. “You walked?” 

“Walked? Ah. So when did you go home?”

“After we ate. You fell asleep, so I think that’s right after you walked to your room. I cleaned up a little, then went straight home.”

Oh. That’s why the kitchen is clean. Suna, at some point earlier, marvels at the notion that maybe it’s all a dream. There are no traces of the onigiri making ingredients. Although the sack of rice is opened, so there’s that.

“I think I mastered another serve,” Atsumu brags out loud, holding a ball in his arm. “A double wielder, Miya Atsumu!” 

“You want to show it to us?” Kita requests thoughtfully. 

“I’m...” Atsumu begins to take a step back, when Osamu shouts, “You should show it, Tsumu. Or what, you scared you’ll mess up?”

Osamu’s subconscious principle: By knocking on enough doors to see the devil, there’s a chance that eventually he’ll answer.

Atsumu, the other side of the tape, scoffs. “Who said anything about being scared, huh?! I was about to show you all anyway!”

“Talk big once you’ve stopped pathetically shaking in fear, dumbass.”

❧❧❧

The next day, Suna learns how nonexistent construction of walls can easily become a thing of the past. Suna has seen it coming. As fools rush in where the others fear to tread, Suna knows it’s actually overdue when a schoolmate confesses her feelings to Osamu. 

He’s not going to lie. That idea occurs to him, occasionally, when he notices how he’s not the only one who keeps on observing Osamu. It doesn’t bother him that one time, as he doesn’t care whatever happens or whoever tries to step up from being a mere observer. In the end, it’s a fact that the subject of his admiration is not only his.

The tragedy of it all is that the world has its funny way of pushing chances. Now that it does bother Suna, it happens this time.

Osamu scrunches his nose whenever he’s deeply thinking, unaware of his surroundings. He’s doing it now as he stares at the phone in his hand. Suna’s about to ask him what’s up when someone else beats him to it.

“What’s that!” Ginjima peeks at Osamu’s shoulder. “Oooh. Seems like a love letter, no, a text confession!”

“Everyone, let’s give Samu a round of applause,” Akagi, their third year libero, announces out of nowhere. 

Suna almost laughs at how the confused first years follow suit when the other second and third years pioneer in the said applause. Key word is almost.

Surprisingly, Atsumu isn’t saying anything. It’s not like he can’t hear them. He’s almost two steps away from Osamu. But he’s staring blankly at the wall, like he does when his mind is preoccupied with volleyball. Suna expects him to be part, or more likely the first one to tease Osamu about that. There’s a part in Suna that’s relieved, at least, that if Atsumu isn’t making a big deal out of this—maybe it really isn’t a big deal.

“One of the Miya’s going to get a girlfriend before the Spring InterHigh,” Kosaku, another second year and one of their team’s wing spikers, comments.

Osamu’s face contorts. “No way. I don’t have the time for that.”

That sudden attention fortunately fades as fast as they have sparked when the practice starts.

That same day when everyone has almost gone home, Suna grabs the chance to run after an oblivious Osamu who’s standing alone while staring at the incompleteness of dusk in the sky.

“You alright, kind Miya?” Suna asks, also not taking his eyes away from the sky.

His voice looks like it startles Osamu before he turns to Suna looking a little surprised that he’s there. Suna still waits on bated breath for his answer.

Osamu crosses his arms over his chest. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You look, I don't know, different.”

“I’m just thinking.”

“About what?”

Osamu pulls out his phone from his pocket, handing it to Suna. As Suna reads what’s written on the text message, Osamu also explains, “That’s from one of our classmates. It’s not exactly a confession. But she’s asking me out for a date. If not, I can also come as her friend. She also emphasizes that she has no ulterior motives and it’s only for the night at the festival—”

“You know, if you’re going to say everything that’s in the message, I don’t have to read it,” Suna jokingly cuts him off since he can sense Osamu’s hesitation fighting with his kindness. “It’s harmless, don’t you think? She admires you.”

Osamu snickers. “Admires me? For what?” 

_For everything._

“For your volleyball skills. Here,” Suna points to a line on the phone. “She specifically mentioned the reason: I’ve long admired you for your volleyball skills.”

When Osamu hasn’t answered, Suna takes that as a sign to continue, “I remember this girl. She’s alone most of the time, has few friends. She also looks shy, so it must’ve taken a lot of courage to type and send this to you. She surely doesn’t have a hidden agenda, she looks meek for that. You can accept her invitation without any pressure, or not. It’s up to you. But I think you should. It’ll be fun. Anywhere without Atsumu will be fun.”

Osamu doesn’t laugh like he usually does when Suna does those kinds of remarks. 

“Rin.”

Suna’s muscle memory works as he locks Osamu’s phone before handing it back.

It isn't on purpose. But his eyes catch the photo Osamu set as his lock screen. They seem like two hands of different people. Fingers weakly interlocked together. What sparks more of his curiosity is the familiar background.

Osamu takes the phone from Suna’s hand before he could properly decode where he’s seen or recognize it.

Yet that cloth... That gray sheet with the triangles on it. The blanket which is a bright yellow, bought by Suna’s mother because he thought it’s Suna’s favorite color. It’s not. But after seeing how excited his Mom was, holding it and pointing at the sloths as prints—yellow easily became Suna’s favorite.

Doesn’t that look the same as Suna’s bed sheet and blanket? 

And so the other hand. Is that supposed to be his?

Unconsciously, Suna takes out his hands from the inside the pockets of his pants. Not planning to tuck them away into clenched fists. He pins his attention on them, looking for a sign. Or for anything that’s similar, or feeling that can confirm his suspicions.

“Hey. Suna?”

“Wh-What!” Suna fakes a cough, quickly hiding his hands behind his back. “What was it?”

“What do you think?” Osamu breathes.

What does Suna think? 

He thinks he needs to go home and check if that’s really his bed sheet.

“I think I already told you what I think,” Suna responds.

Osamu suddenly stretches out his hands, causing his shoulder bag to move upward.

That results to a part of his hair getting snagged on the metal zipper. With a grunt, Osamu asks, "A-ah, my hair... Can you help me?" 

Suna's body quickly moves and rushes in front of Osamu. He tries to help him, leaning forward even though they're already almost inches away.

"W-Wait. I'll—"

"No, you wait. And stop moving," Suna complains before he works his hand up Osamu's hair, moving away the zipper carefully. "There, it's unattached now," Suna notes, his body stiffening when he finally notices how close they are to each other. The entirety of his bodyweight pressing lightly into Osamu's. Fortunately, Suna's arms that are seemingly wrapping around Osamu instinctively glide down. Slowly, awkwardly. 

"Uh, thanks. But you know, I could've just turned around," Osamu quietly notes on a careful tease.

_Where's the fun in that?_

"You should also probably get a haircut. I got worried about your dying hair suffering even more. So I tried to undo it quickly," Suna states, looking for a way out of the situation.

Someone makes a sound from behind. Seemingly their cue to end that conversation. Sighing in relief, Suna turns to find out who it is—it's Atsumu.

Suna never thought he'd be so grateful to see the face of Miya Atsumu.

"Let's go home, Samu!" Atsumu’s gaze holds Suna hostage, and it narrows before Atsumu quickly breaks the stare-off. The chill of the air is whispering against Suna’s skin. But the shiver that runs down his spine is undoubtedly caused by Atsumu—”Never took you for a liar,” he sing-songs in a way only Suna could hear. 

❧❧❧

“You’re not wearing a disguise, Suna!” Atsumu whines. “I texted you that.”

“I wore a cap,” Suna explains with such little effort as the one he has when he finds himself going outside. He narrows his eyes as if he’s sizing up Atsumu’s sanity. “What’s with that getup? Finally admitting you lost your mind?”

Atsumu is currently holding a black eye mask over his face that’s clearly for a masquerade ball with its striking feather on a stick. And a stylish neon jacket which catches everyone’s attention.

“Shh,” Atsumu sushes Suna, waving his hand to go to his side behind the wall. 

Suna reluctantly follows. “What’s up? You said something about Osamu and needing help.”

Atsumu peeks his head at the space next to the wall. “They’re going to pass by. In T-minus two minutes.”

“Who?”

“Samu and his date!”

Suna almost flinches at that, but he quickly recovers and wipes his face blank. “This is stupid. I’m going home.”

“No, Suna!” Atsumu hisses. “You didn’t see.”

“See what?”

“Samu's face this morning.”

“Explain faster. What’s on his face?” Suna asks sharply.

Atsumu removes the mask from his face before he stares at Suna with a smirk. “Don’t look so worried. Anyone might mistake that for love.”

“I’m going home. I’m the idiot for following you out here.”

“No, no. I’m joking.” Atsumu struggles to find the words. “Samu’s face never looked so torn. And he kept on sighing so loud, for like a hundred times before going out.”

That takes Suna’s full attention. He stares at Atsumu, gauging if he’s lying–and seems like he’s not–his expression now full of curiosity. “He doesn’t sigh loudly.”

“Yes. That’s what I’m saying. I don’t plan to disturb whatever it is, but I just want... Just—”

“Observe and see if everything’s alright? Aren’t you the kindest brother,” Suna comments dryly.

“You could’ve said that with kinder emotions!”

“Shut up.” Suna puts his hand over Atsumu’s mouth when Osamu appears in his line of sight. “There he is.”

Atsumu wears the stupid mask again before announcing, “Let’s follow them.”

That leads to the current situation wherein Atsumu and Suna follow Osamu with a girl. Atsumu, for blackmail purposes. Suna, for nosiness purposes.

The two silently—or whatever—follow Osamu and the girl currently walking along the park. Suna notices there’s a lot of distance between the two and they’re not even talking. Maybe it’s because they’re both eating. Or just shy. 

They stop following them right before Osamu halts and turns to the girl. 

“Oh, Samu’s talking to her! Look, his face is so serious. Ah! See! He’s bowing. Why’s he doing that?”

“Shut it. I can see everything. You don’t have to narrate!” Suna holds up a hand to shut Atsumu up, like that would ever work. He actually can’t see everything. There are a lot of cars blocking and people walking in front of the bush where they’re hiding. Not a conducive spot for spying.

“Oh. The girl looks sad. Is Samu finally rejecting her? I knew it.”

“What do you know?” Suna asks, his eyes still on the scene. 

“More than you.” Atsumu climbs the tree near them, doing this with ease. Suna doesn’t have the time to question his surprising skill when Atsumu orders, “Come here! You can see them more clearly here.”

Suna leans over the leaves, trying to get a better look. “No. I’m alright down here.”

“The girl’s crying! Oh no. Samu’s gonna hug her! He’s weak for people who cry.”

Atsumu’s right. 

Suna has a hunch back then, but that statement confirms it now. He remembers that time when Suna got something in his eye, causing him to blink a lot of times until his tears rolled down due to the pain. Osamu suddenly popping out of nowhere, hugging Suna and whispering that he’s going to be alright. That scene ended up with Suna explaining what happened—still confused. Osamu ultimately helped him by blowing his eye.

Suna shelves it as one of the weird moments he experiences whenever he’s around the Miya twins.

So, that’s it, Osamu's weak for tears.

“Help me up,” Suna suddenly says, holding up his hand. Atsumu helps him, and Suna miraculously gets up on the first try. The tree isn’t tall, but fortunately broad enough to hold two boys.

Suna has never climbed a tree. Doesn’t see any use for it, except the chance to fall and break your bones. As soon as he feels that he’s safely sitting on the branch, he instructs, “If I pass away from falling, donate all my organs to those who need it. Except for my middle finger, that’s for you.”

“Like me that much?”

Suna rolls his eyes. “So much.”

“I doubt that. Samu told me you invited him when you’re unpacking some boxes! You should’ve told me!”

“Whatever. You had plans that day, anyway,” he tells him, watching Osamu and the girl. The girl, fortunately, isn’t crying at all. Atsumu obviously lied, and Suna’s the foolish one to take his word as the truth.

“What? As if. I spent all day lying on the bed and bored out of my mind. I didn’t know where Osamu went either, until later when he arrived home. So late at night. What’d you even do?” Atsumu lightly taps Suna’s cap. “I know you wanted to take Osamu to yourself... But—”

Suna, not wanting to get even more confused than he already is, drawls, “I’m going to push you, if you say another word.”

"Do it then."

"You don't think I would?" Suna sneers.

“What are you two doing?” A familiar voice below them appears out of nowhere, calling out.

Naturally, Suna glances down to see if the comment has been directed at them—since they’re two. As soon as he makes eye contact with Osamu, Suna gets frozen in place. 

“Samu! Hi! We didn’t know you’re here.”

Osamu’s shoulders are hunched, still looking up at them. “Next time you follow someone, don’t fight so loudly on the street, and on an exposed tree.”

As embarrassing as this is for Suna, he takes off the black cap and nods. “We don’t mean any trouble.”

“I do,” Atsumu comments, mindlessly ruffling Suna’s hair. “Ah. Suna, your hair’s surprisingly soft.”

Suna’s about to open his mouth to return an unintelligent comeback when Osamu interrupts him.

“You two,” he says. “Get down here.”

“Catch me, Samu!” Atsumu calls out, jumping down from the tree. Osamu unsurprisingly catches his twin, but also pushes him away. Needless to say, Atsumu falls on the ground. While Suna is busy being scared for his life. That’s only until the intensity comes again from below. 

Osamu stares and Suna stares right back, because he doesn’t know what else to do. Can Suna just ask Osamu to catch him too? 

Osamu smiles a little, opening his arms, before saying, “Come here, Rin.”

Here comes the feeling Suna thought he has already confined. Suna’s heart already quickens at the lock of their eyes. He wishes he could leap at the paradise underneath the unknown tree branches.

Osamu’s expression has so much boyish charm and good intent. It’s so bad for Suna’s heart. The warmth Suna never allows is peeking. Enraptured, his eyes are glazing as he mutters Osamu's name. And he finally jumps from the tree, like how someone leaps at an ocean with the possibility of never coming up for air. Their bodies collide into an inevitable embrace, so Suna floats up, wishing to catch some of Osamu’s thoughts.

Suna’s hand clenches on the cap. Not hearing Atsumu’s tirade or Osamu’s laughter. He’s too busy looking at Osamu’s neck. He immediately—not too immediate for his heart—pulls away, away, away. Finally looking at anything, at everything, except Osamu. 

“Suna? Hey, you okay? Are you hurt somewhere?”

Suna snaps out of his trance. “No. I’m fine,” he answers calmly, but he’s already panicking. He puts the cap over Osamu’s head to hide his emotions–or the vulnerability that this moment between them permits. He motions to Atsumu who’s shaking off the grass and dirt from his pants. “It’s all his fault.”

Suna fiddles the zipper in his jacket before he decides to hide hands inside the pockets.

To his surprise, Osamu nods. “Want to take off without him?”

“Alright, alright! No need to mind me! I’ll take off first. Whatever. This is why I hate young love. They only want you around when you’re useful, but the second they want to be alone–” Atsumu begins walking away, still blurting out incoherent words until he’s far enough for them not to hear anymore.

Osamu grins when Atsumu’s out of sight and earshot. “He’s an idiot. Can’t believe you followed him though.”

“Your idiocy rubs off on me,” Suna returns.

“If you say so.” Osamu steps towards him, fixing the cap until it allows Suna to see his eyes clearly. “Want to go?”

“Huh? What about your date?”

“Not a date. Or it was. But it’s done now.”

“Done?”

“ _Done_ ,” Osamu clips with finality in his voice. “I’ve nothing to do with her anymore.”

“Right.”

“Right,” Osamu repeats.

The night becomes dark, the moon is barely there. Walking next to each other quietly. A comfortable silence looming around them, with the engines of the car and crickets of insects as sounds. No one bothers to speak, not the first word. No one bothers to point in a direction. Solely walking to somewhere until their feet hurt.

Osamu’s the first one to decide where to go, collapse and recline first into the grass gracefully, and Suna follows but only seating next to him. 

“Why?” Suna settles for the first word between them.

“Hm?”

“You have nothing to do with her anymore? Why?”

“Just how things worked out. I rejected her politely, she said it’s fine.”

Suna doesn’t pry much more. He rests his head on his knees, finding comfort from the glow of the moon. 

“Hey. Do you love volleyball?” Suna asks.

“Love? That’s a strong word. Why’d you ask?”

“There are times that you don’t look like it.” A lot of them, whenever Osamu thinks no one’s looking. 

“There are moments you look bored out of your mind while playing it, but it doesn’t mean you don’t love the game,” Osamu responds.

“This isn't about me.”

Osamu sits up, taps Suna’s knees which makes Suna unconsciously straightens them. And then, Osamu positions himself to lie on Suna’s lap as he asks, “Why? Are you the kind of person who hates feeling being weak and honest, but craves that from others?”

Suna looks down at Osamu with a scowl, ignoring their disposition. 

“Am I like that?”

“Is this one of those times when I have to lie to protect your feelings?” Osamu asks but not in a harsh and hurtful way.

The burn in Suna’s chest is all the same. “You do that?”

“No... I don’t know. I hope I don’t.” Osamu goes silent for a while, and Suna lets him. 

Osamu’s eyes are closed when he opens up, “You know, I can’t see it in my future. The game. I mean, I can’t see myself doing it for a long time. Not like Atsumu, he’s into it, he lives for it. He has a knack for running after that train. Maybe someday he’ll even outrun it.”

“What about you?”

“Me? I know I can’t stay on these tracks anymore. Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

“Oh, you’re going to be alright. You come from a strong line of dumbass and useless persistence.” Suna brushes his hands on the grass.

“Trying to comfort me? I can say it’s working.”

“I’m not. I’m just bored.”

Osamu’s soft laughter fills the surroundings. “What about you?”

“I _might_ or might not pursue it. Not passionately. But more practically, since I think I’ll be good at it.” Or perhaps not. Since Osamu’s planning not to be there. “I’ll be better than you though, that’s for sure.”

“You already are.”

Suna raises a brow. “Better than you?"

“Sure. And great at it."

With Suna’s eyes on the quiet moon, emotions solidify every second he's with Osamu. He figures out that feeling numb can never be fun, so he lets out what's clawing at the back of his throat. 

And for a short, dreadful second, he takes—or mistakes—Osamu's catch earlier underneath the tree. He mistakes Osamu who rests on his lap like the world's too small and the only space they have is one they could only share. He lets the one thing the universe never lets anyone to be—letting off his armor, wishing he’d come out alive.

Suna doesn’t want to burn away inside himself. Not planning to hide from this field of vision.

“I like you.”

Suna doesn’t look at Osamu when he says them. He doesn’t dare to. There’s no response, so he repeats them, “I like you, Miya Osamu.”

_Tell me you feel the same. Tell me we feel the same thing and I’ll stay wherever you go. I’d even stop playing volleyball if you do._

“Aren’t you mistaken?”

Suna could feel the color drain from his face at that question. He expects a rejection, or even a silent apology, most likely coming from Osamu. But not plain cruel denial, that’s like a burn on his tongue that he can never wash away. Perhaps he can expect that from Atsumu—or that’s an exaggeration. He just can’t believe he has to accept that the kind Osamu, who recently rejected a girl politely, tells that to him. 

“What? Are you doubting _my_ feelings?”

“That’s not it. But you’re being selfish.”

“To you?”

“To you,” Osamu quickly answers. “Aren't you making me your desperate attempt for escape?”

Suna grits his teeth in annoyance. “What’re you talking about?”

“You _know._ ”

The thing is, Suna doesn’t. At all. His ribcage withers, his heart blisters from the empty hope. If this is how Osamu wants to play it, he’ll step backwards. Just like whenever he feels like this. Anyone who wants to be a survivor has the code. It’s the way Suna knows how—to not let control leave him. After all, he’s already let himself be vulnerable. 

“No. I like you,” Suna whispers as his fingers tremble. “It’s unlucky we don’t get to decide what our emotions should be. Or where they should be for convenience. Sorry that I had to tell you.” 

“You’re afraid.”

“Of what?” Suna snaps. “I just confessed.”

“Not that. You’re afraid of being like them.”

“Who?”

“I accidentally heard you that one day, you know. And your Mom. That day. When we’re still in our first year... Remember that? When you said to her you’re going to live alone?”

Remember? How could Osamu ask Suna if he can remember that? 

Suna’s still there, at that ground. Being held back from his words. Everything that he is now remains there, on that day, on those spiteful promises. So Osamu knows, he knows Suna’s still paying for his decision at that moment. 

“Huh. That’s when you started talking to me. So it's out of pity?”

Osamu clicks his tongue. “You know, maybe it’s out of pity at first. I didn’t know any better. And I was confused, 'cause who would want to be alone just to play volleyball? I wouldn’t even dare to think about that. So I shared it with Tsumu, and he shook his head at me. Told me it’s normal. Since he said he’ll do the same as you.”

“Then what am I afraid of?”

“That you finally understand.”

“What?”

“Your father’s ideals and your mother’s reasons. And you’re turning into them, if you pursue it more than you already did.”

Suna sharply exhales and lets out a scoff. “I can’t believe you. You can’t use that against me.”

“I’m not using it against you. You’re already doing a fine job all by yourself.”

“Go to hell, Miya.”

“Get your head out of your ass, Suna. Or one day, you’ll realize you don’t have anything important anymore.”

“Yeah, says the person who just decided to give up on something he’s good at.”

Osamu clenches his jaw. He stares at Suna for a beat. “At least, I have a good grasp of what I really want. Even if it means change.”

Suna curls and hugs his arms, truly wishing Osamu wouldn't hear the beat of his heart. Osamu stands up first. Without hearing one more word from him, Suna doesn’t speak any longer. He has no more words to spill.

They walk until they have to say part ways. They go home, further words unspoken overflowing. 

Enough is enough. Enough for Suna to slam on the brakes, interpreting the lack of answer for lack of reciprocation. The stars are too blur, and the nighttime must have faded away with the water running down his cheeks. 

Truth is, Suna can brush it off as insanity or paint it as a jest. But his mind feels raw, as if it's never been clearer and never been so decided. Until that moment – when they're on the grass, side by side, pulse not in tune in another. And Suna realizes he might not get another smile. Another look full of warmth. Not like they've ever been his.

❧❧❧

_Four years later._

Heavens must've been cracking up in hysterics, to see how Suna loses his mind over the pleas of his heart. Torturing the earth isn't that entertaining anymore. How about an unwise mortal clinging with tragic dreams for a change.

That's how he hurls his bones for a tiny bit of pride. And maybe a sense of assurance he's chosen what's right for him.

There’s more to it, to this stagnancy. To the constant reminder of his excuses.

Suna’s certain of that as he finds himself in front of Miya Osamu at an ungodly hour. Four fucking years later. Wearing the hoodie that he’d been using for weeks. Holding up a grocery bag with food that might last three to four days. In front of the boy who can make Suna become seconds away from risking it all.

How Osamu’s never there. Never anywhere. Again and again. But how he also seems to be fucking everywhere— _pardon the fucking curse_. 

Turns out, even years after, Osamu’s been doing alright. Doing fine with his life. Moving forward and happy. As expected of him. Exactly like the silver moon and its never-ending edge. While Suna has no choice but to fall, face first. 

“Why’re you here?” 

“Where have you been?” Osamu asks in a soft tone. “It’s three in the morning.”

“I got lost. Now, why're you here? How did you even know I live here?”

"...Why’re you still in Division 3? Tsumu said there are a lot of teams asking for you. Waiting for you there in Division 1,” Osamu goes straight to his point. “Why are _you_ still here?”

Miya Atsumu, up until now, proves to be the bane of Suna's existence. Miya Osamu is currently making its way to the top, if he tries a little bit harder. 

“Why do you care? I haven’t slept yet, okay? And I don’t want to hear this from anyone—especially from you.”

“Look at me,” Osamu demands and Suna does. “Straight up. You think I'm not in love with you?”

“What? You made it clear that time—”

“I lied that day. And deep down inside, I’m sure you’re aware. I only said that ‘cause I thought you were going to make me a reason not to follow your dreams.”

Suna scoffs. Unbelievable. “This is...” he slows down to emphasize his words, “going nowhere.”

Osamu shakes his head. “Seems like the decision I made didn't matter at all.” 

“Seems like you want me to apologize _again_ for saying emotions I don’t feel anymore?”

Osamu grits his teeth, running his hand through his hair while frustrated. “Back then, you were trying to use me as a way to settle, to escape from the life that you fear will take you everywhere. Somewhere you’re not used to. You didn’t even care if I rejected you, ‘cause your head’s already looking for a getaway. I won’t even be surprised if I confessed and you make it your bug-out bag.”

Is Osamu right? Is he?

Suna doesn’t want to know. “Stop pretending like you know everything,” he snaps.

“Why, do you? ‘Cause it seems the one pretending to not know anything is you. If I said I’ve loved you back, you’d be giving up on volleyball too. Weren’t you? And you’d regret it, maybe even blame me for it. Or wait. Maybe you’re blaming me for this,” he motions to Suna’s entirety. “You must’ve blamed me. Or the world. Or the fact that you’ve wasted so much for your pride.”

“Aren’t you so full of yourself? I’m not fucking stupid—”

“That’s what you’ve been doing ever since. You were struggling. Future's so unsure. And uncertain. You weren’t passionate about the game, but you know you might as well be. That’s the kind of person you are. You latch onto something then you never let it go. But you’re so afraid you’re turning to be like your parents. And so what? You’re their son.”

“Shut up,” Suna hisses.

“I think a part of you already gets them. But if you don’t have anything to blame, that means you have to blame yourself. For your countless wrong decisions. We can’t have that, can we?" He inhales and exhales deeply. "Of course, you had to go out of your way. Sure, it's a huge risk. But being safe from that does no good to you at all. We both know volleyball's never about staying in one place. There's rotation, countless chase, and a chance of rally. It's all about what's next and moving forward. You can't stay in the past, stuck in Inarizaki, anymore.”

Suna doesn’t say anything back. At first. He hesitates. For a lot of seconds. “Y...You’re still singing that same song? Go back to where you came from, Miya. Go away. We’ve not been friends for years after our graduation. We’ve never been _anything_. So I don’t need your lecture.”

“I made a mistake too. I know I shouldn’t have left you alone with your doubts like that,” Osamu mutters, with his voice still being gentle. “But you can’t put that blame on me, or your parents. Don’t make us an excuse to run away.”

Why is this happening now? Suna isn’t even prepared. He doesn’t know what to say, and he hasn’t imagined this would happen anytime soon. Knowing his old teammates, they’re surely worried of him. But they don’t cross the line. They leave Suna be.

Not Osamu, of course. Never him. 

Atsumu has one big heart, Osamu has splinter hearts breaking into smaller pieces. Suna’s aware of that. He has to give, and give, and give everything away. That’s who he is. That’s not what Suna needs at this moment. Back then, perhaps. Now? Not so much.

“You think? You think you made a mistake, huh.” Suna moves closer to Osamu, but stops midway. “You didn’t just leave volleyball. Or Atsumu. Or any grand possibility. You left me. Yeah. You _left_ me too.” He points at his chest. “You managed to follow Atsumu anywhere back then. Following him around, thinking it’s going to bring you somewhere. And now what? You’re still walking behind his trail.”

“Is that how you really see me? Do you think it was easy for me to start over? To let go of what I was used to?”

Suna turns away, tearing up. He’s just spouting nonsense. He knows the truth. And the truth is Osamu has always been capable of living the life he deserves. Calm, fun, and dreamlike. A part of Suna, if he's being honest, is envious. Or mad at the fact that someone can let one life go and just move to the other. How Osamu can just pack up and declare he’s dropping everything he’s known to learn something he’s known a little of. 

But Suna can’t face the truth yet. The truth that Osamu may have suffered too, doubts filling up his head.

“Then, why?'' Suna bits his lip before whispering, "Everything you left behind became my everything, but why is it still not enough?” 

He needs to release it all out. To give it to Osamu so he could let everything go. 

“I know it’s my fault, Samu. I desired so much not to be like them that I ruined my life. I chose this, but please. Leave me to this, since you said I’m _great_ at it. I’m great at having less, ‘cause it’s what makes me breathe. Is it so bad to be afraid of uncertainty? Of change? Can't you just let me have this? This is only what I have.”

“You have me.”

“I—I think I don’t even know you anymore.”

“That’s the easiest part, Rin.” With a sad smile, Osamu shrugs and steps in closer to Suna. He stops when they’re likely a step away. “Make the difficult ones first. After that, I can introduce myself again.”

❧❧❧

_By the way, you have to call your Mom once in a while. She said you only send photos and videos of other things or people, and she never hears your voice or sees your face. Except on the television. That's not the same. Well, not to me._

That’s Osamu’s final reminder before he tells him he has to go back to his shop. Since he has to finish an order. A part of Suna wants to make him stay. But his mind immediately snaps him out of his reverie. After Osamu enters his car and drives away, Suna watches until his car is nowhere to be seen. 

Hours before the sun shines, Suna picks up his phone. He hovers his finger over the name of his mother’s caller ID. At some point, he doesn’t notice as he falls asleep and only wakes up when he hears his phone ringing.

He holds it up to his ear with his eyes still closed. “Hello?”

“Did I wake you?” It’s his mother’s voice. 

Startled, he sits down and looks at the name to confirm if he isn’t hallucinating. When Suna realizes he isn’t, he answers, “No. I’m up! Uh, I'm up. I was planning to call you. Are you alright?”

“I’m okay…” Her tone suddenly turns more gentle, if that’s possible. “Are you? Are you okay, my love?”

Maybe it’s the haze or the suddenness, or it might’ve been the warmth in her voice, or even the soft and cheesy nickname she calls him. But Suna thinks he might have turned into a crybaby. His heart feels so heavy, and no matter how hard he tries to swallow back the pain, the tears are already welling in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mom. So sorry. I talked so big, but I’m stuck and haven’t done my best at all...”

“Why are you sorry? You’re not at fault. I was. Is this about that time before? No need, okay. We were forcing you and your sister to always compromise for us.”

“I said some hurtful words to you that time,” Suna recalls, still feeling guilty and shameful.

“You weren’t all wrong anyway. It’s fine though. Also, don't get embarrassed, but I heard you practicing that long speech when you’re in our bathroom. Guess you really built up some courage. I was, um, feeling proud and emotional when I saw you finally had enough, sticking up for yourself.” Then he hears her hearty laugh. 

“You weren’t mad?”

“I was, at first. Or I think I should've been. But your rehearsal prepared me for it. So I got to talk to your aunt, and she agreed to take you in. That’s why I easily let you go. I knew you were decided, and we can't be your boundaries," she halts for a moment. "Oh. Another thing, your Father told me that also sort of happened with him and your Grandma. He said that's the one thing he didn't wish you to take after him. But nevertheless, he's very proud. He watches your games. We both are.”

Suna shakes his head, then hangs his head in shame. “You can’t. These past few years, I was just ignoring all the opportunities—”

“It’s not a race, Rintarou,” she cuts him off. “I understand you thought you had to text me—you still do—everyday, worried about me. I appreciate that, but letting you stay there alone was a double-edged sword. I knew I was setting you up for a situation where you’ll live with happiness and penance. I’m the one who needs to say sorry.”

He feels his tears falling. “Thanks for letting me though. You've done so much for me.”

“Of course. You’re our son. We'll do anything for you.”

After Suna hears those words, they sink into a moment of silence. He’s always been grateful for his mother’s support, but it’s a relief learning that directly from her. Taking a deep breath, he wipes the tears that stained his cheeks. 

His hands are trembling when he blurts out to the phone, “Mom, I think I’ve found someone who saw right through me. But he’s a boy.”

Suna’s not even sure if he can still call Osamu a boy. But that’s who he was before. Who he loved and still loves today.

“And, my love. _And_ he’s a boy,” his mother softly replies. “Is this boy's name Miya Osamu?”

“...Yes. How did you know?”

“Ah, well, there was a time when he’s running around, looking for you. He even asked your old coach for my number, said you didn't want to keep in touch with him. Then I found out he chose Aichi 'cause of you, kept asking me about the shop where I made you stay when I worked before. Then, we also accidentally met."

“Accidentally?! We went to the grand opening of his shop and almost bought the whole menu!” Suna hears his little sister’s voice yell.

“Stop shouting. I told you, I’m talking to your brother. Yeah. Just play your game. More ear piercings? Go back to me when you're older, young lady." He could tell from her muffled voice that she's covering the mouthpiece. "Okay, so, where were we? He recognized me, introduced himself again, telling me to listen for a while. It’s something important. It’s for your future, he says. I guess that’s when he heard the news of your first rejection to join a Division 1 team.”

“You’re the one who gave my address to him?”

“Uh-oh. He already went to you, huh?” His Mom chuckles. “I wasn’t planning to, at first. But I realized when I was looking at the recent photos you sent me—with that strange onigiri logo of the building you seem to always take a photo of... Looks awfully a lot like the logo of his cap. He's been having this odd raffle where he keeps giving out free rice. I think that's somehow related to you, but I don't know.”

His grip around the phone tightens. “That wasn’t, really. I didn’t know you'd make that connection.”

“Of course, I would. And the cherry on top is when I also realized you’re travelling for him, and you don’t even go inside his shop. Meaning you’re looking at him from afar. Sounds familiar, don’t you think?” she asks in a teasing way.

If his mother breaks it down like that, it does sound ridiculous. But it is, indeed, a familiar scenario. He’s seen it a couple of times when they moved to be with his father. And they could only gaze at him from afar, meet him for a couple of minutes before he goes away again.

This time, the memory makes Suna smile. 

“Mom—”

“That handsome and diligent guy’s something else. I was about to ask if I can set him up with one of my friend’s daughters. But I didn’t. If only he wasn’t so in love with you, he even has your photo covering the back of his phone case—Ah! Don’t tell him I saw. Don’t tell him I told you! He even bribed me with food so I won't tell you.”

“Mom!”

“Well, I think he's the type that settles down. So don’t worry about him leaving. He’s been worried sick 'bout you all the time. Um... But I think I’m kind of the reason of his sudden visit to you. Your plan to reject another team kind of slipped my mouth.”

“Kind of? You flat-out told Miya-san, Mom," his little sister announces.

Suna can hear his mom stifling a giggle. She fails miserably, and even if he doesn't want to, it still puts an exhausted grin on Suna’s lips. “Okay, okay. Anyway, my love, remember… People are never their father or mother. You’re a result of our love, but that's all there is to it. You're you. You face your emotions. You can run towards what you want. And you never want others to suffer from your decisions. You amaze me—and you always have. You hope for freedom. But even if you already have it, you act like you can never own it. Now, you have to. Since, you know, that’s the way a Suna loves.”

“You know I love you, Mom. Right?” 

“Not as much as I do with you,” she replies. “Stand up and be brave... I guess when I saw how desperate your handsome guy was, I saw a part of myself in him. So I’m sure his love would be strong enough to help free you.”

Suna decides he doesn’t want to leave things to any gods or fate out there—if they even exist. Not knowing where to start, he thinks it’s better to face it. Not dodging or running away. Perhaps he can do it by making the difficult choices—like what Osamu said.

“Mom, if you have time… Can you help me pack my things? I think I have to go to Shizuoka.”

“Of course, my love. Your sister and I are here. I’m actually literally telling you to stand up from your bed. Right now. We’re parked outside your apartment building.”

“What?! That fast?”

“Ah… You know this is what I’m great at. Chasing a man, even at the ends of the world. So if that’s what you want to do with your dream, I’ll be more than happy to help. Don’t worry. We’ll get you there.”

❧❧❧

“Oh!” His little sister pulls up a snow globe from the box. Suna stops breathing altogether when he recognizes it. “There's still a paper taped under it. Miya-san's right, you haven't seen it yet.”

Miya-san? 

Suna takes the snow globe from his sister’s hands. He remembers this. It’s the snow globe Osamu gave him when they’re still in second year high school. He hasn’t seen it for a long time. Almost even thinks Osamu has taken it home. Suna peeks at the bottom part, to see a folded paper fastened with an adhesive tape.

"Seen what?" he asks her. "And you talked to him?"

"I like his cooking!" She smiles before she sticks out her tongue. "Anyway, just read it! That's long overdue."

Slowly, Suna pulls the paper and tries his best not to rip any parts of it. When Suna succesfully does—with tiny ripped edges and tears on the sides—he unfolds the single sheet to reveal a handwritten letter.

Full disclosure: Osamu has a tiny handwriting, but his point gets across.

And, boy, it really does.

❧❧❧

_Hey, Suna._

_So. You’re sleeping right now. Like a log. After eating every onigiri I’ve made. So yeah, guess I can write this letter._

_People always seem to perceive love in different ways. And someday, I’ll tell you this in person. But I’ll stick with this for now. I support you for who you are and for whoever you will be. I’m still young, and I already want to promise you the whole world. Don’t be mad, but I think I understand how people say that home isn't a place but a person. Maybe in the future, we’ll grasp that together._

_I think I found that photo you're miserably hiding from your foot - that I'm actually a bit sorry for saying that I took it. Like how I secretly took your hand, your fingertips resting on all of my emotions. Almost wishing parts of mine would bruise, so I just can have the feel of your hand longer._

_You've never been one to mind that. You'll never be bound to what doesn't fit in your hand. You have thousands of worlds of courage in you. Home should never be your end goal, as you've always been there when you decided to fight to stay just to play in a team you didn't even know back then. I’m sure you’ll be amazing out there when you believe in it. Whether you’re with a team you love. Or on a national platform with unnecessarily too good and odd people, like you. But it's up to you to decide when you'll be done casting away your dreams._

_I once thought I was meant to mend the pieces of you lost everywhere you've ever been. Except I was as broken and so lost. Although, aren’t we all?_

_You said, “People always stray away. It’s the same thing that’s wrong and right with all of us.”_

_So stray away. Find your way out when you're ready. You can't have a cage-free soul and an aching heart. There'll be a time you have to choose. Though y_ _ou’re never alone, you will never be. As long as I’m breathing. I’m also planning to for a long, long time. You’re always welcome to go to me whenever you feel like staying. And when it's time to go, keep in mind that I’ll wait for you._

_P.S. If you mind me keeping the photo, tell me. I'll give it back._

❧❧❧

This is how it ends. After getting through the strenuous time of switching teams. After all the moments he regrets not having until he eventually accepts, Suna has decided it’s time. Time for him to run after what his heart truly holds close.

With the promises of hands too cold to hold yet a hope filled with warmth. The rain coincidentally falls, so hard, so loud the sidewalk and forecast becomes uncomfortable. But suddenly, it speaks in silence and ease. 

Suna closes his eyes, and the raindrop rolls in. And another one rolls in, again and again. The rainstorm refuses to let anything hold up, demanding for it to be associated with everything. Just like in the movies, like the rain meeting the sea. Returning home, finally. Handing all its pain and aches with its waves. 

“Why are you here?” Osamu asks loudly through the rain, as soon as he sees Suna. 

The callous beauty of the vision of Osamu burns into Suna’s eyes. He still looks stunning in disheveled hair (maybe he just removed his cap), standing in front of his newly built branch. He’s reluctant. He also looks hesitant. And his eyes are mirroring the emotions Suna feels inside. But Suna doubts that, with his throat burning, wanting to never escape. He wants to stay here. Never be far away from the mess he has been glad to partake in. 

Staring at Osamu for a beat, Suna says nothing as he takes away the hoodie from his head. He thought of things to say. Anything. However, all he thinks of is: The rain pounding on Osamu’s face. Or the water splashing on his shoes. The letter he’s gripping inside the pocket.

“I’m here for you. I thought you’re waiting for me,” Suna returns, then his chest depresses. 

A lie that sounds so good. As if lies exist for them. They’re too good, too kind when he lets them be. It’s what got them in this mess in the first place. The theory of drowning without touching a drop of water. He breathes, breathes again, and the shallow water feels so heavy. He wonders if this is all there is to love—a gentle kiss of hopelessness with lies pushed before the beauty of truth.

There: by the open road, by the will of gods, by the fate he manipulates. There: in front of Osamu, with the vulnerable honesty his heart wants to scream.

Osamu steps in closer to put Suna under his umbrella. Suna’s back bows with the intrusion, but he looks up with longing. He takes a good look, silently, like it’s not the kind of umbrella he needs. But it is.

“Honestly, I was just putting out the trash,” Osamu states, quickly pointing with his free hand at the garbage bag. "Wasn't really waiting for you."

“...Way to ruin the fucking mood.”

Osamu frowns, a deep furrow forming in his brows. “You know you can say that without the curse.”

“Way to ruin the stupid mood.”

“Better? I think.” 

"By the way, I got in!" Suna yells, trying to be heard over the sound of the sudden intense rain. "I joined a Division 1 team, it's in Shizuoka! But I'm not yet a starting player!"

"You will be! But can we go to that shed, so we can hear each other better?!"

Nodding, Suna follows Osamu under the run-down awning in front of his shop. Osamu notices something that Suna’s not particularly hiding. And he's the one who speaks first, “Ah. You finally found the letter.”

Suna blinks at the slightly damped letter, his face now filled with an intent curiosity. “Hey. I was actually thinking. How’d you even know I haven’t read it all these years? Or when I confessed that I liked you?”

“You would’ve referenced it or teased me about it,” Osamu replies. “And you would’ve been holding it, like you’re doing now.”

Osamu isn't entirely wrong. If Suna saw the letter before, he'd be all over it and wouldn't miss the chance to make Osamu blush or be embarrassed.

"Why did you hide it under the snow globe?"

"I thought it'd be sweet when you put it up and turn the light on, you'll notice the paper. Guess you didn't do either," Osamu surmises. "Your little sister said you never notice those things."

“I think it's a wise idea though."

“If I was wiser, Rin, I would’ve just given it to you personally. And not wasted time.”

“I’m none the better. But, you know, whatever. Thank you. For everything,” Suna says, holding up his palm until it touches the back of Osamu’s hand. “You’re my home. I always wanted it to be you—shit, that sounds better in my mind. I had this long speech that I’ve made mentally, but I think the rain washed it away... But anyway, if you really have my photo, I don't mind you keeping it. Since I love you, or that sort of reason if you're into that.”

Osamu’s bottom lip trembles. Nodding, he lets out the best crinkly-eyed, full-on tender smile he has. The one that can make everything feels better. "I love you too, if you're into that."

It’s unbelievable how one decision can be life-changing that Suna knows, deep in his soul, he could make it right. If he’s by Osamu’s side.

Suna moves closer to rest the top of his head in Osamu’s chest, furiously wiping away his own tears to not create a mess on his shirt. 

“...I also didn’t want to make this about me. But you’re here in Aichi. And I’ve realized that you chose to stay at the cozy shop I once loved,” Suna whispers. “You’re such an idiot, Samu.”

“That’s alright. I thought about you a lot that I didn't even notice I was here. And it's for you. So you can fall in love with it once again, and you won't mind coming back whenever you go.” A smile kicks up the corner of Osamu’s mouth, he declares, “Welcome home, Rin. Always nice to have you back.” 

With divine intervention in lovesick stupor and the unheard rumbling of the skies, silence floats around them. Suna meets the delicate look of Osamu before his eyes drop down to his lips. Suna smiles and leans in closer as Osamu meets him halfway. 

❧❧❧

_Take me with you. Even if it breaks me._

_I know it won't. Just in case it does—_

_Our love was never meant for the faint of heart anyway._

**Author's Note:**

> if you've reached the end, thank you soooooo much<3 
> 
> just know that you're amazing and i hope you have a great day!


End file.
